How Sweet The Rain
by TLH
Summary: Tristan and OC. Set in timeline with the film. A simple love story of a young girl and a lonely scout... COMPLETE
1. The Rain

**How Sweet the Rain **

Chapter 1

The man sat patiently in complete silence, just below the brow of a small incline, above a tiny stream that ambled its way gently through the lush trees and forest green that embraced its small banks on either side. He perched comfortably on a slight mossy mound, hidden from view by the tall ferns which, fortunately for him, were now in their full burst of life.

From this most convenient spot, he was able to see the small clearing alongside the stream which opened out from the mouth of the forest track which he believed, led back to that small village that lay to the south of the fort.

He could smell the rain in the air as he lifted his head to the sky and breathed in deeply.

'Would she still come?' He thought. Then the memory of the first time he had seen her flashed before him and he smiled to himself. Of course she would…….

He had been returning on foot across the very brow top where he now sat. Leisurely, but without a sound he had trod the ground, content with his catch of a half dozen hares that swung from his belt in rhythm with his silent strides. He loved to hunt; it kept him sharp and tuned his shrewd, primal senses. Each and every kill he took with his bow. No snares or traps for this hunter. His skill as both archer and swordsman was without comparison and in the more peaceful times, he would often set off alone amongst the nearby woodlands, in search of prey on which to practice his art.

It was on this day that he had happened upon the woman he now waited for. The rain had been steadily falling for a half hour or more but the air was thick and warm, the heat of which had conjured an almost magical mist to rise from the forest floor. The hunter had thought to return back to the fortress after the mornings kill but instead, with the onset of the welcome shower, he had decided against it.

He loved the rain. He loved to feel the sweet droplets pattering gently upon his upturned face. He loved to hear the sound of rain drumming out its song upon the leaves and the ground. But most of all, he loved the smell of the lush green forest after a downpour. It smelt bursting with life. It was as if all around had been reborn, so fresh and dazzling and along with it, himself. It was in these moments he truly felt invigorated and alive. These moments - and when, upon the battlefield he took another's life. Such sweet satisfaction it was to him to watch the flame of life flicker and die from within the enemy's eyes. Each death at his hand, a reminder how alive he truly was. He lived to feel the rain upon his face and he lived to kill.

He had heard her gentle laughter first. His keen ear instantly drew him to the sound. Intrigued slightly, he had moved silently towards it, taking care not to draw attention to his presence.

His eyes fell upon a woman, face and arms raised towards the sky, her eyes closed, her mouth opening and closing as she tasted the cool sweetness of the rain that fell. She gave out a gentle laugh once again. as she spun round on her toes and smoothed down the length of her sodden tawny locks thatclung looselyaround her smiling face.

She was alone, he sensed that in an instant and to his surprise he found her child-like display amused him. Even more so, as she no doubt believed herself to be completely alone and unjudged by those who might disparage her innocent pleasure.

He continued secretlyto watch the woman from his place between two elderly oaks, not wanting to encroach upon her private joy. He thought, several times, to continue on his journey but found himself curiously captivated

Before he had realised it, he had settled himself down to observe her in more comfort. Bewilderingly, there he was, hiding amongst the forest flora, witnessing a stranger's most clandestine behaviour. He hadn't meant to spy; and anyhow, he didn't consider it spying, by the Gods! No, he was just watching, that was all. He meant her no harm. It was just that he found her intriguing & he supposed to himself that, she was quite pleasing to the eye - if only in a simple, peasant type way.

But then, as the rain eased away, she had stopped her foolery and set to her task. The hunter had watched as she sat herself down on the bank of the stream and prepared to launder the pile of linen and clothes that lay there. He had unknowingly held his breath as he saw her hitch up her skirt, revealing the length of her long white legs that parted wide around a large rock that lay between them and thus she began to scrub the now soaked garments, clean upon it.

He watched, still holding the breath in his lungs, as the water from the stream trickled deliciously down her legs. The light glistened and bounced upon the droplets as they meandered their way down the length of the woman's thighs. He had begun to feel a familiar stirring and he swallowed deeply as thoughts of being between those wet and inviting thighs sprang unsurprisingly into his head. A murmur began to rise in his throat when suddenly he thought, 'What in hell's name, am I doing!'

He was not a man to be creeping around in the undergrowth, sneaking looks at innocent women like some depraved degenerate. He had felt a slight stab of shame at his own uncouth behaviour and decided to leave quickly, while he still had the will…..

That had been two weeks past. Against his own better judgement and morals, (which, if he were honest to himself, were not many), he had returned to the place where he was now with hopes that he might see her again. She had not disappointed the hunter. She was there on every occasion.

He told himself, the first time he ventured back, that he was returning merely out curiosity and that maybe, if he had found her there, then he would perhaps make her acquaintance.

But the hunter was rarely truthful unto himself where his emotions were concerned. She more than intrigued him and never yet had he made his presence known to her. Instead he would watch her, quite spellbound. Many times she would sing quietly away to herself. He heard her gentle laughter often as she worked tirelessly away and he wondered what thoughts swept through her mind to make her smile so. Was it thoughts of happy times past perhaps? Or maybe memories of a lover's kiss? That thought peculiarly, the hunter found most irritating and he found himself wishing it were thoughts of him that painted such a smile upon the woman's face. She was so full of life, and it was this shimmering light that held him captive.

He longed to speak to her but could find no conversation to offer. He had a great many skills but polite banter was not one of them. He had always been a man of few words. A natural consequence of the lonely life he led these past years. So, for now he had to content himself with admiring her from a distance.

But on this day, his dilemma was taken from out of his control with the unforeseen help from a familiar friend.

It had been as if the bird knew his quandary and had set in motion her plan of resolve. The hunter's attention was captured by the sight of his hawk swooping down from the now clearing sky. She perched effortlessly on a low hanging branch that stretched across the stream in front of the woman - giving a short cry as she did so.

"Ohhhh!" the woman exclaimed, as startled, she fell back on her heels and throwing back her hands behind her to steady the fall. Keeping quite still, she regarded her unexpected visitor wide-eyed & mouth agape.

The hawk simply shuffled from one leg to the other, gripping the precarious branch with her expert talons. When she was content with her perch, she squawked once more and ruffled her tawny plumage, her eyes all the time trained on the woman in front of her.

The woman nervously began to push herself backwards with her heels. She was well aware of what dangerous creatures these birds could be and never had she been so close before. The hawk squawked once more, causing another startled cry from the woman, in reply.

"Do not fear, she won't hurt you"

The woman's head shot round in the direction of the deep voice that spoke from out of nowhere. There stood, not three feet behind her, the hunter. She was momentarily lost for words. She had heard no approach and bewildered; she wondered where this rather unruly and dishevelled looking stranger had appeared from.

The man gave out a sharp whistle and the hawk instantly took flight. With just a single flap of her wings, she glided gracefully across and landed upon his outstretched hand in total silence.

The woman, still sat upon the ground, gathered her wits and in an astonished tone asked.

"She belongs to _you_?"

The stranger caressed the bird's silky breast and with a shrug of his shoulders he replied without taking his eyes from the hawk.

"No……I think maybe it is_ I_ who belongs to her."

There was a peculiar hint to the man's voice. It was a steady, deep voice but it was the slight echo of an accent that caught her notice. He was certainly no local, she thought immediately. And besides, men in her village didn't look like him that was for sure! As he continued to pet the bird, the woman regarded the man before her more closely.

He was tall, his body slender but most visibly strong. His hair was dark, long and most unruly, adorned with irregular shabby braids, which at that moment rendered his facial features hidden from her view. He wore tan breeches & a tunic which told of hard work and toil. 'They could do with a good wash' she thought to herself with a hint of amusement. There was a quiver and bow across his back and a short blade in his belt which hung at his side. He looked as wild as the bird upon his arm. But the woman sensed keenly the unmistakable air of graceful dignity about him which seemed so much in disparity with his dishevelled looks.

She began to rise slowly from the ground, dusting her hands upon her long skirt as she did so. At the sound of her movement the man turned his head to look at her. She saw his face clearly now for the first time.

She spied immediately, two dark arrow-like markings which adorned either side of his high sculptured cheekbones and wondered curiously at their meaning. They gave him a rather dark, mysterious air which made her heartbeat quicken. Not an unpleasant sensation but confusing all the same. But it was his deep, golden brown eyes that arrested her. From beneath his shadowy brow, they danced mischievously behind his curtain of long shaggy locks. She held their gaze, entranced.

It was at that moment she had thought what a handsome looking man he was. She found herself overcome by an inexplicable attraction and quite suddenly she became aware of the tale, the quickening of her heartbeat was telling her.

Suddenly she realised she had been staring in to the stranger's eyes in complete silence for sometime. The enchantment he wove was replaced by an acute shyness and the woman felt a deep flush brush her cheeks. She quickly dropped her gaze from his and began to twist her fingers nervously. She felt embarrassed and foolish and bit her lip in annoyance. She had no idea what to say to him and wished desperately that he would continue the conversation and save her from the dilemma. The awkward moment was broken at last, when he thankfully spoke once more.

"Would you like to stroke her?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, no, no…" she answered quickly, shaking her down turned head and stumbling anxiously over her words.

"Don't be afraid" he continued with a whisper of a smile upon his lips "She won't bite, I promise"

"Oh, no, I erm…I'd rather not, I …er….." Her voice trailed away as she shuffled her feet uneasily. She felt self-conscious and utterly ridiculous in front of this man. Even the sound of his voice now brought the heat to her cheeks.

The man turned his attention once more to the companion upon his hand,

"Seems the little lady is afraid of you, girl" He said to the bird, the smile on his lips broadening.

The hawk gave a loud shrill and then effortlessly took flight, disappearing over the tree tops. He then looked back at the woman whose eyes were still concentrated upon the ground at her feet. The look she had bestowed upon him earlier and the subsequent shy blush had not gone unnoticed and he was both pleased and flattered that he had made her feel so. He narrowed his eyes playfully as he spoke once again.

"She said, it must be _me_ you are afraid of, not her!" He spoke with gentle amusement and the woman looked up quickly.

"What!" She asked in a rather too high pitched tone. Again, their eyes met and unwillingly she found herself tumbling into those sparkling mischievous brown eyes of his once more. She struggled desperately to find something of sense to say to him when she heard him ask.

"_Are_ you afraid of me?"

She knew he was teasing her. She was making a complete fool of herself and he must think her such a silly woman. She felt she could stay in his presence no longer and made a move to escape the humiliating situation.

"I….I don't know you…." she stuttered as she began to hastily gather up the garments that lay by the stream. The man stood quite still, his eyes following her every move.

"I'm sorry…I must go…" the woman began to back away as he regarded her silently, a bemused look twinkling in those eyes of his.

She swallowed slightly, "I shouldna be talking to you… you being a stranger an' all, tisn't right…. What would folks say...? I have to go…."

Swiftly she turned on her heel and trotted away towards the pathway that led back to her village. Her heart was beating rapidly and she could feel his gaze upon her back as she went.

"Tristan!"

The sound of his voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"My name is Tristan."

She turned her head slowly until he was once again in her sight. He stood, a slight smile on his lips, his eyes still dancing behind his dark locks.

"Now I am no longer a stranger, no?"

She paused, taking a moment to absorb the pleasure of his enigmatic gaze once more. She felt an excited leap in her heart and with a shy smile she answered him.

"I'm Juna" with that, she turned and was gone.

Tristan listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps disappearing into the forest ahead until he could hear them no more.

He then began to feel the first gentle drops of rain fall upon his head. He smiled, welcoming their familiar touch. Turning around, he walked away in the direction of the fortress with thoughts of Juna and of the cool, refreshing rain


	2. The Secret

**Thank you all for your kind reviews. Your encouragement is invaluable as I'm sure all of you know! I'm so glad you have enjoyed the first chapter and I sincerely hope I do not disappoint as the story enfolds! This chapter ended up incredibly long so I've cut it in two! No Juna this time, sorry! (She was in the second half!) But I hope you like it, anyway!**

**Rated: M - **but not this chapter!

**Summary: **Tristan has just returned to the tavern following his little encounter with Juna.

**Chapter 2**

Tristan strode over to the tavern bar with his usual graceful but tenacious gait. Slinging the single dead hare upon it with mournful thud, he beckoned to Vanora to fill his ale mug with nothing more than a wag of his long slender finger.

"Is that_ it_?" Vanora exclaimed as she slopped the ale down before him with an exasperated thump.

With her hands now perched on her hips, bestowing on Tristan her most fearsome frown, she once again found herself wondering just how she was expected to feed twelve hungry mouths with just a solitary hare - and a rather scrawny looking hare at that.

Tristan merely shrugged, disinterested and taking the ale offered, meandered his way through the rowdy rabble of Romans, peasants and fellow knights, sitting himself down in his usual corner next to an intoxicated Gawain. Leaving Vanora's petulant grumbling to fade away into the tavern din behind him.

Vanora had gotten far too expectant of Tristan's hunting expeditions over the years. Rarely, if ever, had the scout returned empty handed but just lately and with annoying frequency, he had been doing just that.

The kill he brought back for Vanora though, was never more than a welcome bonus,(a fact she seemed to have suitably forgotten over time) as food was rarely scarce at Baden Hill, even during long the winter months.

It was for his own amusement that he hunted, not necessity and Vanora should be damn grateful he brought her anything at all, he'd thought irritably. But of course, as is the way, with all good things bestowed - with regularity, comes expectation.

These days, Tristan had far more interesting things on his mind, than concerning himself with Vanora and her hare and vegetable broth.

"Just what is it you do all morning, Tristan?" mumbled Gawain with more than a hint of a slur tainting his jovial tone.

His eyes were closed and face flushed from drink as he stretched leisurely back in his chair, head resting comfortably upon the ample bosom of a fair haired wench draped behind him. He smiled contentedly, enjoying the touch of the woman, as she traced one hand through his long flaxen hair and caressed his whiskered cheek with the other whilst giggling and kissing him lightly at every opportunity.

Tristan merely continued to drink, offering his friend nothing more than a sideways glance in response. Gawain gave a rumbling chuckle at his friends typical silence and continued,

"You are losing your hunters touch, my friend. Vanora is not happy with you – her pot has been almost empty these last few days and Bors grows frighteningly thin. If he is not careful, he will end up looking like you"

"Then let the hefty boar fill his own pot." Tristan murmured as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

Easing himself comfortably back in his chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him, Tristan caught sight of Lancelot gracing his way towards them. His journey was stopped momentarily by a company of several pretty girls who grabbed at his hands, giggling and beckoning the knight to join them. Tristan could not hear their silly prattle but could clearly see their enticing expressions and gestures.

'They're like bees around the honeysuckle.' The scout thought with a dispassionate sigh. And so they were, all of them longing for their taste of his sweet nectar and all so willing to share.

'Women! What do they see in him?' he smiled, despite himself, as he watched the dark knight's well practised performance.

Lancelot was smiling that mysterious and charismatic beam of his that never failed to make all the wenches swoon. Shaking his head oh-so regretfully, he bestowed upon each one in turn, a kiss and then prised himself expertly from their grasp. No doubt with his usual tantalising promise of 'later, perhaps'.

Tristan pushed out the seat opposite with his foot, as offer of greeting to his friend, the need to voice the welcome, unnecessary. Lancelot accepted with a grin and a nod, sitting himself down and leaning forward on his elbow with his usual nonchalant air.

"So, my fine friends, how goes it with you two this night?" He inquired jovially.

Tristan shrugged as reaching into his pocket he pulled out a green shiny apple and a small blade. He sliced thinly and evenly through the fruit and popped the sliver of juicy, sweet flesh into his mouth and munched away quietly. Gawain said nothing, dozing contently under the relaxing embrace of his companion.

"As exciting as that, is it?" Lancelot asked with a sarcastic but amiable chuckle. He knew his quiet friend better than to expect polite chit chat. Tristan was not a man to waste words and effort when simple expression could serve just as well. After a few moments silence and time for Lancelot's initial inquiry to penetrate Gawain's drunken semi-slumber, he chortled lazily

"Galahad drives me to drink with his incessant whining about freedom and Vanora crows like a harpy at Tristan's lack of kill for her broth!"

Lancelot laughed loudly "You know, as pretty as she is, I can't help but pity old Bors, sometimes!"

Tristan gave an amused snort as, putting down his apple and blade; he picked up his mug and took another gulp. It was then he noticed the curious look that suddenly glimmered in Lancelot's dark eyes.

Tristan sighed, knowing that shrewd nose of Lancelot's had caught hold of a scent in Gawain's words and waited for the interrogation to begin.

"I've noticed" he began slowly, his look simmering with suspicious delight "Your hunting trips have become rather more frequent of late, Tristan."

Tristan remained impassive and silent.

"And the hours you spend away, much longer than usual. And yet you bring back so little prey?" Lancelot exclaimed, feigning astonishment with great exaggeration. "Maybe these days, Gawain, it's prey of a different kind that occupies the eye of our trusty scout and now all the hares shall be safe in their burrows, 'ey Tristan?"

Gawain opened his eyes slowly and sat up in his chair with growing interest. Pulling the wench from around his back, he sat her upon his knee and laughed.

"What is this Lancelot? Do you know something I don't?"

Lancelot arched a single brow towards a now steely faced Tristan and smiled knowingly at Gawain, picking up his drink as he did so and revelling in the attention he had roused in his friend.

'Damn him!" cursed Tristan secretly. Nothing ever got by that that man unnoticed. Tristan continued to drink, expressionless and unperturbed as he searched for ways to steer away Lancelot's awkward and annoying curiosity. He was not about to grace Lancelot with the satisfaction of rising to his bait, that was for certain.

Lancelot, now getting comfortably in his stride, was just about to needle away at his friend once more when he was interrupted by a tall, raven haired woman who had strolled boldly over to their table and then brazenly straddled her long legs across Tristan's lap.

"'Allo, love" She drawled enticingly, picking up his half empty mug and slugging it dry "Where ya bin, then, stranger? You've not been to see me in a while."

She smiled a slow, wanton smile and moved her face close up to Tristan's and brushed the tip of her nose tantalizingly across the whiskers upon his top lip, licking the length of her own ale soaked lips with her wet and glistening tongue as she did so. "Want some company, tonight scout?" she breathed huskily.

Tristan stared icily back into the eyes of his regular whore and felt an unexplainable surge of anger. Grabbing the woman's arm, he swiftly pulled her from his lap and deposited her roughly upon the floor, hissing between his clenched teeth, as he did so. "Not tonight, woman!"

The wench picked herself up, shocked, astounded and utterly enraged at being treated so boorishly.

"'Ere!" She spat angrily, "what's got into you? My services not good enough for you no more, then?"

Laina was not a one used to being slighted by men. She was a handsome looking woman and clean to boot. She still had youth and looks enough to enable her to charge a little more for her time and be choosey with her men. Much more so than most of the whores around and the men seemed happy to pay.

Tristan's rejection had humiliated her greatly. Just who in Hell's name did he think he was? He should feel honoured to be offered her services. Filthy Sarmatian scum!

She didn't need his money, anyhow; there were plenty of others who'd be happy to take his place.

Gawain and Lancelot watched the performance both astonished and amused at Tristan's surprising rebuff.

"Oh Laina don't be angry!" mocked Lancelot "Tristan seems to have found himself another source of amusement. One that doesn't cost him two pennies a time, I'll wager"

"She must be a brainless little slut!" she growled venomously "What else would bed you for free?" Turning to face Tristan she glared furiously and added with a haughty toss of her long black hair "You've saddled me for the last time scout, no one treats me like that, d'ya, hear! No one!" Laina stormed away leaving the cackles of Lancelot and Gawain behind her. She would just have to earn her supper amongst the higher ranking Romans instead, this night.

Although his steady features betrayed not a trace of it, Tristan was bubbling with fury and decided it was time to go. It had been all he could do to stop his hands from snapping that neck of hers when she spoke of Juna that way.

The company and atmosphere were soiling his previous good humour and he wanted rid of it. He hated any suggestion of his Juna was being banded about in a tavern by Lancelot, let alone a two penny whore. He would not share the peace his shy, innocent Juna brought him in a place like this, any more than he would allow her to be sullied by the mouth of a common wench.

It was as if by their mere mention, they tainted her very existence and he would not have it.

He wanted desperately to be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts of tomorrow, and of his Juna. Would she come again to the clearing by the stream, hoping that she may happen upon him there? Or had he perhaps scared her a little and was now afraid to return?

'No' he thought, he had behaved well - for him – and had done his very best to allay any fear she may have felt. At least he thought he had.

_His_ _Juna_ – he wasn't aware of the moment when he had come to consider her _his_ but he questioned it not, it seemed easy and natural to him. Besides, she would be his, of that he had no doubt, she just didn't know it yet.

The chair scrapped painfully across the floor as Tristan rose to leave.

"Maybe I shall go with you one day and discover what delights keep you from your hunt and your whores, Tristan." Lancelot mused wickedly. The black eyes beneath his dark brow dancing waywardly "She must be something very special indeed."

He had discovered the thorn in Tristan's side now and would enjoy the chance of good humoured provocation over the coming days.

For a fleeting moment, the image of Lancelot and Juna together flashed through Tristan's thoughts. All women loved Lancelot; they were all powerless in the clutches of his charm & flattery. Charm and flattery Tristan well knew he himself, did not possess.

Suddenly, a most sickening sensation swept through his body and then settled deep in the pit of his stomach. Half fury, half fear almost. Never before had he been touched by emotion such as this and he was at a loss to understand its meaning.

All he knew was that he never wanted to feel like this ever again and he never wanted Juna to ever meet Lancelot.

Shooting the dark knight an unfaltering, stony eyed glare, Tristan then left the tavern without a word.


	3. The Kiss

**Firstly, I must apologise for the delay in updating this story – I'm not the speediest of writers at the best of times but I've had a few unexpected quandaries over the direction of this tale, coupled with real life ups and downs keeping me away from my computer, but anyway - sorry!**

**Thank you everyone for reviewing so far – I hope I don't disappoint anyone as the story unfolds.**

**And a special thanks to Lucillaq for giving me the nudge to get off my backside and carry on!**

**Chapter 3**

Juna frowned as she swung the scythe half-heartedly through the golden ears of corn. Thoughts of the enigmatic stranger had been haunting her every moment, even stealing their way into her dreams that night. Up until now, she had led a somewhat sheltered and secluded life, reason enough for her not ever having met anyone quite like him before. Was it any wonder she could not rid him from her mind?

She had been startled by him when they met, caught off guard, leaving her somewhat shy and lost for words, so unlike her usual spirited and carefree self. And how many times had she relived the moment since that morning? Cursing herself for not saying this and not doing that. He had appeared from nowhere, an apparition almost - indeed she had wondered more than once, if the encounter had been nothing more than a dream.

All through the day Juna had fought the overwhelming desire to return to the glade and seek out the man, choosing not her usual laundry chores but instead convincing her mother that she would be best served helping out in the fields that day. But the hard toil of the land could not chase away the rather puzzling and alarming need that curled itself tightly about her.

The sun had peaked and began its journey earthward once more. Juna stood up and straightened her aching back with relief, then lent herself wearily upon the scythe in her blistered hands. That was enough for today. She would feed the fowl and then home for supper. Closing her eyes, she let out a weary sigh as the unexplainable longing still ached within.

It was inconceivable to think that he would be there; she told herself over and over, why would he be? And what if he were there? She could not possibly go to him. If she were seen, alone in the company of a man such as he, the shame would be unimaginable. The small village that was her home was a God fearing place, her mother a good Christian who had embraced the new religion most fervently and protected her only daughter with her staunch sense morality, in the only way she could. Her mother would never allow her his acquaintance. It was a ridiculous and impossible notion.

Juna decided that it was time to put all foolish thoughts of clandestine meetings with wild, handsome strangers out of her mind and be making her way back home. With another despondent sigh, she drew her arm slowly across her damp forehead and then stopped, her attention captured by the haunting call of a hawk upon high. Looking up, Juna caught sight of the bird soaring gracefully above. Mesmerised, a smile gently lit up her face as the hawk called out once more.

"Tristan" She breathed.

She knew then, without a doubt, she must go to him.

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The quiet serenity was broken only by the gentle hush of the breeze and soft rippling of the stream that played pleasantly upon the scout's ears. He sat, leant up against a tree trunk, hidden within the tall lush green ferns in the same spot where he had watched the woman day after day secretly and unobserved. His long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle across the other and his head leant back with eyes closed. To anyone looking he would seem in deep slumber, but the scout was never off his guard. He waited patiently instead, to hear the longed for sound of familiar footsteps. He had been so sure she would come today, but with every passing hour, his normally unfaltering confidence had begun to feel a very unfamiliar strain and this most calm and patient of men began to feel the seeds of irritation budding within.

As the heat of the midday sun began to cool into the warmth of afternoon, he had already resolved that he would wait there all day if he had to and if she still did not appear by dusk, he would simply ride out to the small village and find her. Everyday she had come to this spot, with her laundry bundle and her smile. Everyday he had watched her, secretly, until finally yesterday, they had spoken. If he had offended her, then he would set things right. If he had frightened her, he would show her she had no reason to fear him. But whatever the reason she did not come today, he was determined that their brief meeting would not be the last.

For fifteen long years he had fought in this land. For fifteen years, been a slave to Roman rule. In a few short weeks his dispatch papers would arrive and he would be a free man. Free at last to travel the long, arduous journey home. It was all Galahad and Gawain ever talked of. Home - family - Sarmatia. What of his home, his family? Sarmatia held nothing for him. There would be no one waiting anxiously for his return on the horizon. A sad truth known from the memory of the burning huts and slaughter that still reeked its stench in his nostrils to that very day. A decimated Sarmatian village, left as a chilling reminder to all those tribes who thought to defy the will of the mighty Rome and hold back their sons from their destiny.

The only family he had were the brotherhood of knights he had fought with and watched buried, over these cold and brutal years. The only home this beautiful but cruel land of Britannia.

Recently, Tristan had begun to feel the first pangs of true loneliness. With freedom looming ever nearer, he had come to realise the harsh reality that he indeed, had nothing. No home, no family, no lover in his heart. He had led too often, a solitary life. Choosing not, the comfort and pleasure of a loving companion and children to fill his heart with pride, as his friend Bors had. The relationship he had silently maligned so thoughtlessly and easily over the years, quite suddenly, made perfect sense and somewhere deep down, Tristan had felt the tiniest stab of envy pierce his normally impenetrable spirit.

There had been women of course, plenty – most paid for, some not. But Tristan had always been careful to severe any possibility of attachment, preferring a simple life, with no others to concern his thoughts, save his brothers on the battlefield. A man often alone but never - until now – lonely, over the years he had grown naturally detached, seemingly arrogant and cold. There were those that thought him heartless, devoid of any real human emotion and maybe there was a grain of truth in their thoughts, but he had not always been so.

Then, from the moment he had heard the gentle laughter in the rain, his heart had found its voice once again. The more he watched her, the more he wanted her. The more he wanted her, the more he was determined to claim her as his own. Maybe now, the freedom he had so longed for, which had begun to seem so uncertain and lonely for him, would bring with it the love and companionship all men eventually come to crave at some time in their lives. Even a warrior such as he.

Whilst still deep in his thoughts, Tristan caught the faint echo of hurrying feet as they sped swiftly across the pathway through the trees. As they grew closer, his keen ears picked up the quick rhythmic breath of a woman. He knew it was she. The footsteps stopped suddenly just a short distance away and opening his eyes he peered through the foliage and smiled to himself.

-------------------------------

The glade was deserted. Not a sign or a whisper of another to be found. Juna felt the sickening ache of disappointment drop from her heart. Silly, foolish woman, she thought as she sank down despairingly on the grassy bank of the stream. Pulling up her knees to her chest, she dropped her head and rested on her chin, watching dejectedly as the rippling stream bobbed and bounced its way between the rocks and pebbles.

"Are you waiting for me?"

Juna head shot round, startled once again by a familiar low, and accented voice. And once again there he stood, as dishevelled, but as striking as ever. Juna caught her breath as he causally stretched out his long slender arm and offered her his hand. Hesitating for a moment, Juna then reached out and slipped her tiny hand into his and trembled slightly as he gently pulled her to her feet. Once again, she found herself lost for words as her eager eyes drank him in. His head cocked to one side, Tristan stared back at her through narrowed, playful eyes. His calm almost expressionless face betraying not a trace of the curious pleasure the very sight of her brought him. He then dropped his look to the warm little hand that still gripped his own gently. Turning her palm upwards he traced the angry blisters that lay there.

"You've been working hard, I see?"

Juna pulled her hand away quickly and clasped it protectively to her breast. She was ashamed to find she had not let go her hold and even more so that he should have noticed the disagreeable state of her hands.

"I've been in the fields all day, I'm sorry I…" Mortified now, it occurred to Juna just at that moment, what a state she must look and she hung her head low so as to avoid his eyes and she wished desperately now, that she had never come.

With a sharp snap of his head, Tristan flicked the long shroud of locks from his face as he looked down at the young woman who stood before him with her untidy tawny hair that fell enticingly from its pins about her shoulders, her muddy dress and sandals and her grubby face.

He gave a soft chuckle, reached out gently and lifted her chin. His golden brown eyes met hers and surprisingly he heard himself whisper "You're beautiful"

Juna flushed wildly and felt her heart pounding ever more painfully. "Please don't tease me" she whispered.

Tristan gave a shrug, leaned close to her cheek and whispered back "I don't tease."

The low seductive growl that tingled in her ear and the warm tender touch upon her chin sent shivers racing through her body which in return, echoed back its confusing want of more

'Sweet Jesus,' Juna thought desperately, finding herself completely overwhelmed by this man. She was both pleasured and afraid - of what she had no idea - but the instinctive thought to run quickly, before he had her utterly at his mercy, flashed through her senses.

Tristan read her thoughts instantly as he recognised the nervous threat of flight in her eyes. He reluctantly took a step back in the hope of reassurance and was relieved to see her slowly relax again. Tristan was not used to company such as Juna and he knew well he had to remember as much. She was from a good family, he had no doubt and not ready for a man like himself yet. He would have to tread carefully here, she was not a possession to be taken and claimed and indeed, although he knew he could quite easily do so, he would not have it that way.

The scout found himself at a loss for words and badly needing to say something to keep this woman by his side.

He almost squirmed as he found himself asking, "Will you sit with me a while?" in a deliberately casual tone.

But thankfully, she smiled and nodded. Her previous tension seemed to have dissolved away once more.

Sitting himself down against the large trunk of a nearby oak he smiled to himself as without another word, Juna sat herself down beside him carefully pulling from the pocket of her plain grey smock, a handful of berries she had picked on the way. She offered a share to Tristan, who raised a brow in surprise at the ease of her gesture. It seemed to him that the simple offering somehow signified the beginnings of an accord between them and for a moment, Tristan held the steady look from her brown eyes, captivated by the glimmering attraction that danced there.

He answered her smile with one of his own as he took the fruit gratefully, his rough finger tips gently grazing the palm of her outstretched hand as he did so. He then leant against the tree, more than aware of the faint touch of his shoulder against hers as he settled himself back.

Neither spoke for a moment, both secretly preferring to enjoy the closeness of the other and not wanting to shatter the moment. Without turning to look at her, Tristan regarded Juna quietly, from the corner of his eye. She seemed so relaxed now, he thought, a little surprised, the previous moment of panic forgotten. It pleased him that she was now so obviously comfortable in his presence. It pleased him a lot. He watched, as popping the last of the berries in to her mouth, she slipped each finger tip between her lips, tasting the sweet juice that was left there. It was such an innocent gesture, but one that didn't fail to gently stir his most basic of instincts.

Suddenly feeling the need to compose himself, Tristan looked away quickly and gave a low, rusty cough, shifting uncomfortably as he did so, all the time reminding himself to behave.

"Where do you come from, Tristan?" The scout turned back quickly. The pleasant sound of his name upon her lips, drawing his eyes to meet hers once again. He paused to swallow the last of the berries and not taking his gaze from hers for a second answered.

"The Wall" He saw the sudden look of excitement sweep her face as she sat up from the trunk and stared at him in anticipation.

"You live at The Great Wall?" She asked wide eyed. Pausing momentarily, allowing the revelation to sink in, she whispered "Then you must know Arthur?"

Tristan gave a simple nod and turned to look ahead once again.

He had impressed her, he thought with the smallest whisper of pride. Although Tristan was certainly no peacock and had never sort admiration from anyone, it had been purely unintentional. Despite this and for the first time in his life, he found he enjoyed the feeling. It suddenly passed through his mind why Lancelot enjoyed performing for the ladies, so much. He couldn't help thinking how she would react when he told her he was one of his men.

"I've heard such tales of him" she mused in wonder as she settled back against the tree. "I saw him once, such along time ago, when I was a child."

"You never go to the wall?" Tristan asked a little puzzled at her revelation. The Wall was but five or so miles away and people came there from villages much farther than Juna's to trade and work.

"No" she answered flatly with a despondent drop of her head. "Mother rarely lets me travel with her to the fortress." And with a little laugh, she added "She says it's full of filthy Romans and Arthur's vile heathen, knights who have no more desire in life other than to make whores of all us village girls and drink themselves into a stupor every night"

Tristan raised a bemused eye brow "I see." He mumbled, seeing the seeds of a possible dilemma developing before him. Maybe she wouldn't be so impressed, after all.

Juna laughed again "No, I go there rarely, only when Mother is sure the Sarmatians are not in garrison" she sighed gently, then as an after thought she added softly. "She forgets I am no longer a child. She just worries, is all."

Again there fell a comfortable, easy silence between them, until Juna asked.

"Do you know the knights?"

Tristan gave a brief nod and pondered on his next words, trying to fathom if it was actually the right time or not to admit that he was actually one of these 'drunken, wench chasing knights' her mother had so skilfully protected her from, until now.

"You do!" Juna eyes sparkled once again and the thought came to Tristan that perhaps she would be impressed then, until he heard. "What of the dark knight they call Lancelot? Folks say he is the greatest knight of all, second only to Arthur and that he fights with _two_ blades….!" Tristan felt the slightly sickening prickle of resentment taint his previous good spirit at the sound of her far too enthusiastic prattle "….is he really as handsome as they say? The women here talk of nothing else but him, you know? They say he is a – "

"You listen to far too many fairytales." He snapped, a little too bitterly, cutting short her excitable jabbering. Juna fell silent and sensed all too completely, the sudden tension misting up between them and with it her previous interest slipped quickly away. She realised what an inappropriate thing she said and cursed herself, embarrassed for having been so thoughtless in her words.

Juna bit her lip and wondered what on earth she could say next to lighten the mood. Tristan sat in stony silence. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin upon them and twisted her head slightly to look at the man by her side. He sat looking out in to the yonder somewhere and although his steady features betrayed not a whisper of the umbrage he was feeling, Juna knew she had offended him with her silly childish gushing and wished desperately that she had not spoken so. She thought for a moment and then smiled to herself.

"I'll wager he's not as handsome as you!" she whispered bashfully, nudging him gently with her elbow as she did so.

Tristan cast her a steady, sideways glance and then turned his head away, saying nothing. Juna knew she had made him smile even though she could not see his face and she relaxed again as the tension lifted.

Tristan couldn't help but smile at her words. Her innocence enchanted him. She was no temptress enticing him with insincere flattery. Her words were harmless sweet talk, her way to make amends and for a moment he considered what right had such a decadent man as himself got, to be seeking to claim her for his own. He had led such a cruel and unrepentant life. In truth, craving the bloodlust and relishing the taking of life. He didn't deserve happiness, he didn't deserve her.

He turned back to look upon her once more and caught her deep brown eyes shinning and eager for his response. Immediately the dark, self pitying thoughts fled and all he could think of now was how it would feel to kiss her.

Leaning forward, without so much as a word, Tristan reached out one hand and touched her cheek. To his relief Juna responded, nestling her face closer into the warmth of his hand. Bringing her in close now, he kissed her waiting mouth lightly, just once. Juna caught her breath gently both surprised and delighted. They sat in silence, brown eyes locked, brows almost touching until Juna moved close and quickly stole her own kiss from Tristan's warm lips, surprising him equally in return.

Laughing now, she quickly scrambled to her feet, not allowing Tristan a moment to react.

"I must go… tis late and I'll be for a good thrashing if I don't get home soon!" she teased, flashing a shy flirtatious glance his way.

The sudden threat of her departure sent an astonishing anguish sweeping through Tristan, which surprised even him. Without thought, he immediately reached out and grasped her wrist and found himself desperately fighting the instinctive desire to deny her, her leave. The swift action, startled Juna and she let out gasp. Quickly coming to his senses and realising the zealous nature of his action, Tristan reluctantly let go and after a reflective pause, he asked quietly

"Will I see you again?"

Juna smiled once more and whispered.

"Aye, I'd like that" and with that she was gone, once again.


	4. The Promise

**A huge 'Thank You' again to all my readers and reviewers. Your support is invaluable. I hope you enjoy this next installment. **

**Chapter 4 **

"Did ya hear what I said, lass?"

Juna stared at her mother across the crude wooden supper table with a look of complete bewilderment.

"The oxen…." The elder woman spoke irritably "Have ya, fed 'em up for the night?"

Juna's mother pursed her lips suspiciously. The silence, the distant looks, the lack of appetite - all so unlike her normally spirited daughter. One didn't need a mother's intuition to know something was amiss. The woman gazed steadily across the table. Whatever thoughts and places her daughter was lost within, her bright, sparkling eyes and radiant inconsequential smiles, told her they were happy ones. The woman knew that look all too well. She had worn it herself once, many years ago. All that concerned her was who it may be that shared her daughter's dreams and why did Juna not speak of him?

"The oxen?" Juna answered at last "No sorry… I have'na yet. I'll go see to it now, Ma"

Drawing herself reluctantly from her thoughts, Juna stood up and made for the door.

"Juna" her mother called softly after her.

Juna stopped at the door and looked back. For a moment, the mother regarded her daughter with a feeling almost of sadness. Just when had she grown into this woman who stood before her now? It seemed only yesterday that she was but a child.

Anxious, she said a silent prayer that her daughter had not fallen prey to the same surreptitious, predatory charms as she had, so many years ago.

"Take the torch, Lass. Darkness has fallen quickly this night."

-----

The warm, steady flames of the torch upon the stable wall began flickering wildly as a swift and sudden breeze whistled through the evening air, sending the shadows dancing eerily all around. Juna looked over her shoulder toward the barn door, expecting to see her mother stood there, but it was closed and all around was silent except for the stirring of the three head of cattle and a few roosting fowl. Juna shrugged and thought no more about it and carried on forking fresh hay into the waiting oxen's trough. That done she placed down her pitchfork, glad to finally be able to rest for the night.

"There you go, ladies." She murmured under her breath as she slapped the cow's rump affectionately. "Sleep tight and …."

Juna fell silent and swung around quickly to find… nothing. She had felt the presence, she knew she had. A feeling almost like the whisper of someone's breath upon her cheek. She stood completely still, listening for something, anything. But for the rustle of the cattle, there was nothing.

She turned back once more, her eyes straining to see within the darkness that loomed beyond the torches light but it would not betray its secrets. Then slowly, Juna began to sense the disturbing feeling of watching eyes. She swallowed uneasily as her throat ran dry.

"Who's there?" she demanded hoarsely as she began to back slowly away from the darkness toward safety of the barn door. Stepping edgily one foot behind the other she then quickly spun on her heel in order to flee to safety, only to find her self held fast by a powerful arm that wrapped itself about her waist. She opened her mouth to scream but her cry was muffled instantly by a firm though gentle hand clasped across her mouth.

"Ssshhh!" a man's whisper warned in her ear as she felt herself lifted from the ground and spun around.

Wrenching her head forcibly from side to side, Juna managed to find her grip with her teeth and wasted no time in biting down hard upon the flesh of the hand at her mouth. She felt the man wince as he fought the pain, but as Juna bit even harder, he could take no more and let go his hold, pushing her away as he did so. Juna stumbled forward toward a nearby hay bale and grabbed up the pitchfork she had left there. She swung around as fast as she could, pointing the fork defiantly at the man behind her.

"You have a bite like a wild cat, woman!" growled a distinctively deep and husky voice

Juna gave out a little shriek of surprise, as there before her stood Tristan, grimacing faintly, whilst soothing the wound on his hand with his tongue. He made a move towards her but was thwarted at once as Juna impulsively jabbed at him with the fork.

"Stay away from me! Or I'll stick you with this, I swear!" She hissed angrily.

Tristan held up his hands in accordance and stepped back on his heel, rather bewildered. He was expecting to hear her laugh, not have her hold him at bay at the end of a pitchfork. Gods! But he had made a horse's ass out of this situation, he thought to himself. It was far from his intention to frighten the woman. But then, he never had been very good at all this female business. He'd come here to court her, not scare her half to death and just look at the reception he'd managed to invoke. What the hell was he supposed to say now?

"Careful where you point that thing, Juna – you could do me a mischief and then what use would I be to you?" he eventually spoke, his scowl now exchanged with a particularly roguish twinkle in his eyes. Juna gave a puzzled, thoughtful frown, followed momentarily by an affronted gasp.

"How dare you! Get out of my barn, you vagabond."

Tristan sighed wearily. Like courting women, light hearted jesting had never been one of his greatest attributes either, obviously.

"Look woman, just put the bloody fork down, will you?" he grumbled again.

"I sharnt!" Juna whispered defiantly, conscious suddenly that her mother may hear the kafuffle and discover him here. Tristan frowned and rolled his eyes, 'well, this is going well' he thought despondently.

"What sort of a man are you? Lurking about in barns, sneaking up on defenseless women?" she hissed again.

But even as she spoke, the sight of this handsome, wild looking man was already spinning its web and Juna was fighting the strange desire to laugh and run into his arms.

"If you didn't keep running away from me, before telling me when and where to find you again, I wouldn't have to go to such lengths to seek you out, now would I?"

"Oh, that's what you call it, is it? Seeking me out!" She could hide it no longer and knew Tristan had caught the growing glimmer of mirth in her eyes when she saw his own begin to narrow and dance with mischief again, behind the curtain of long dark hair that lay on his cheeks.

"I was trying to be discreet" He mused huskily, taking a step towards her. "I know how you women covet your reputation in a community such as this"

"Well…. you scared the be-Jesus out of me, you foolish man!" The smile in her eyes crept to her lips as she threw the pitchfork away to one side and, to Tristan's complete surprise, she ran straight into his arms. He gathered her up gratefully and held her close, feeling his heart burst with pleasure from the spontaneous and loving embrace. No one, nothing, had ever made him feel this way before. Such a curious fusion of joy and pain and one that was baffling to the scout as it was irresistible. As he buried his head within her soft brown hair, he heard a sweet, shy chuckle as she whispered

"I'm sorry about your hand."

Tristan grumbled something unintelligible and then looking up for a moment, cast her an erroneous scowl, which made Juna giggle even more.

"I'm so glad my pain amuses, you" Tristan teased softly, leaning back slightly, his dark eyes seeking the pleasure of her own.

"Well, you've only yourself to blame!…..come here, let me see!" she laughed as she slipped her arms from around his waist, took hold of his injured hand and kissed the wound gently.

The feel of her warm lips, the touch of her tiny fingers, the sight of her long brown hair bowed over his outstretched hand - the temptation just proved too much and Tristan felt himself lean forward to breathe in the scent of her hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply but gently. She had the crisp fresh scent of a meadow in springtime and he felt himself stir yet again, slipping away into the intimacy of the moment. How he longed to lay her down now, upon the hay at his feet and make her his very own. Tristan groaned silently within and opened his eyes to find Juna now looking up at him, her brown eyes wide and glistening with bemused affection.

"Were you smelling my hair?" she whispered coyly, her dark tawny eyes sparkling ever more.

"No" he lied and smiling, he reached out a finger and gently brushed away a single lock that had fallen across her cheek.

A shy smile curled at the corner of Juna's mouth as she threw him an amused and disbelieving look. Then she kissed his hand once more but to Tristan's regret, let go and the enchanting moment seemed sadly gone. For a short while neither spoke, both lost in their secret longing thoughts of each other.

"Shall I come for you tomorrow, then?" Tristan finally asked softly, wishing that she would reach out and touch him again.

"No!" whispered Juna, anxious all of a sudden, thinking of her mother's inevitable wrath, should he come a knocking at her door "I'll come to you…at the glade…after sunrise"

Tristan gave a nod and ran his tongue across the length of his whiskered lips, then slowly leaned close in offer of a kiss. To his joy, Juna accepted, reaching up and entwining her arms about his neck and kissing him long and deeply. She had been aching to taste his lips once again and their eyes closed instinctively as the long tender caress began to deepen. Tristan slowly wrapped his arms around her waist once more and pulled her tenderly against his hard body, surprised and encouraged by her willing response. He dared to venture and explore her warm sweet mouth with his gentle tongue, feeling her surprise give way to pleasure as she answered with a quiet moan.

"Juna! Juna! Where have you got to, Lass?"

Juna almost leapt from her skin at the sound of her mothers call. Panic stricken, she quickly pushed Tristan away, yelling back as she did so "Just comin' Ma!"

For a moment the would be lovers caught each other's eye, both now breathing heavily and sorely aware of the pain of their unsatisfied hunger.

"I have to go, Tristan. If my Ma catches me…." She whispered anxiously, brushing down her dress and straightening her hair as she sped to the stable door. Tristan felt the immediate anguish of departure again. It seemed just as he held her within his grasp, she was always whisked away, leaving him empty and desolate.

"Running away again?" he asked quietly after her, his voice heavy with regret "Will you run from me tomorrow, too?"

Stopping at the door, Juna glanced back over her shoulder and the sight of him fair near took her breath away. His dark eyes sparkled beneath his long shroud of hair - but the look was not one of mischief or laughter, but of hunger and something much, much more. Something that Juna dared not hope be true.

He was silently willing her back to his side and she answered his call. Swiftly running back into his arms, she took his handsome whiskered face in her hands and kissed him again.

"No, I shall not run from you tomorrow, I promise." She breathed, kissing him once more before slipping from his arms and stepping quietly from the barn.

------

Raising the silver goblet to his mouth, Arthur took a long, deep swallow as his green eyes flickered across the vast round table from one empty chair to another. Each one now a silent accolade to the fallen knight that once sat there proud and equal, but now lay instead, beneath the cold earth upon Baden Hill.

His sharp emerald gaze swept across huge frame of Dagonet - then Bors, both muttering quietly together and then stopped once again on an unexpectedly empty place. He said nothing, but the steady, piercing frown betrayed his growing annoyance. Tristan was absent yet again.

Arthur breathed an irritable sigh as he contemplated his scout's recent and unusual absences of late. Tristan - always ready, always there – trustworthy and dependable to the hilt and yet these last couple of weeks he had been annoyingly elusive. Lancelot had laughed when Arthur had mentioned his concerns 'It's a woman, would you believe?' he had snorted amused.

No, Arthur wouldn't believe and although he had no desire to know what that scout got up to, or with whom – or for that matter, what went on it that mysterious head of his, he wished distinctly that Tristan would keep to dropping his breeches on his own time and he would tell him as such, if this conduct continued.

Just as the thought left Arthur's head, in strode Tristan. The knights all fell quiet as he prowled silently across to his chair and sat down with just a single nod in Arthur's direction and not a word to anyone else around him.

"Been out chasing hares, again, Tristan?" Lancelot grinned across the table, breaking the awkward silence of the large and echoing hall. "By that frustrated look upon your face, I gather she slipped through your fingers yet again?" Gawain, Bors and the others began to chuckle into their wine as Lancelot's darkly amused eyes flashed and he added. "Waste not your time and effort on good Christian maidens, Tristan. Their mouths are constantly spouting their sanctimonious moral rot, whilst their legs remain firmly shut! That is of course, unless you have found God and plan to marry, said maiden!"

The table erupted into bellowing laughter, all except for Arthur who sat staring dispassionately across at his scout and Tristan, who though cool and silent, simmered away angrily within.

Just as the infuriatingly shrewd Lancelot had observed, his dark, irritable mood was indeed fuelled even more, by the still present ache in his loins from the unfulfilled longing to lay his claim on Juna.

He shot a cold stare back across at Lancelot who, still laughing, raised his goblet in cordial salute to his comrade. Tristan gave no response and simply turned his frown to Arthur.

"Glad you could join us, Tristan" Arthur said flatly, holding his scout's impertinent glare without falter. After several seconds, Tristan withdrew his silent challenge, condescending duly to his leader's displeasure. Arthur knew no more reprimand was necessary and signaled for his knights' full attention with three firm knocks upon the table from the goblet in his hand.

Immediately the men looked toward their leader, silent and attentive.

"Knights! Now we are _all here_" His spoke with an emphatic nod towards Tristan "I have good tidings to share…. I have word that the Bishop Germanus is to arrive here the day after the morrow. Bringing with him, as you know…. your dispatch papers……and your freedom!"

A unified cheer rippled around the table, goblets were raised up to the air and wine was drained.

"Did you hear that, Dag?" Bellowed Bors, banging the table repeatedly with a euphoric fist, "Freedom!"

Arthur paused, allowing his men a moment of rejoicing and then continued.

"It has been requested that we ride out to meet the caravan on the South Road and escort the Bishop's carriage back here to the Wall. We will leave at dawn on the morning of his arrival. I trust you all know what is required." Arthur smiled as he watched his knights' jubilation at the news. They had waited so long for this moment, had suffered so much. But still, he could not stay the shadow of sadness that cloaked his heart. He would miss these men. These faithful and courageous knights that had all laid their life down, for him and for each other, time and time again. He would die for each and every one of them and he knew each and every one, would die for him. His knights, his brothers, his friends. Arthur knew he would never know such loyalty and devotion from anyone ever again in his lifetime.

"Until then, I shall leave you to your wine and your song, my friends" Arthur bid them goodnight and made his way as usual, to his lonely quarters. Leaving the laughter and cheer of his knights behind him.


	5. The Gift

**Again, a huge thank you to all of you for reading and reviewing. Your support, as always, is invaluable.**

**CHAPTER 5 **

Juna laughed, gasping with shock and delight as she slipped her toe into the icy dark water of the stream. Hitching her skirt up high, she took a deep breath and stepped quickly into its shallow depths with both feet. She gave another squeal and then looked back over her shoulder at the scout sat leaning up against a tree trunk, watching her with nothing more than a quiet smile upon his lips.

She seemed just as she did the first time his eyes had fallen upon her. The same smile and the same delightfully child-like sound of laughter that had held him captive that day, just as it did now. His expression, though unremarkable, could not hide the pleasure of his heart from dancing in his dark eyes.

He had lost count of how many summers he had seen, he reflected quietly, but he knew he was no longer the youth he had once been. He realised he had indeed been lonely far too long and watching her now, he knew the freedom that dangled so tantalisingly close, would mean nothing without someone with which to share it and he wanted so much to share it with her. Now all that was left was to tell her so, but first she must know just who it was that craved her devotion.

"Come and join me, I dare you!" she laughed over at him, enjoying the now soothing waters lapping at her ankles. Tristan merely shook his head and sliced another slither of apple, slipping it into his mouth with his blade.

Letting out a groan of disappointment, Juna stepped out of the stream and hurried to his side, sitting herself down with a bump.

"What a spoilsport you are, old man!" she pouted, slapping his thigh and then mischievously swiping the fresh apple slice that sat, poised for the eating, on the knife edge of Tristan's blade.

Tristan paused and raised a quizzical brow, throwing a narrow-eyed scowl in her direction.

"Old man?" he challenged in an incredulous, rusty tone. Juna pursed her lips, trying hard not to giggle.

"Did you just call me…_old man_?"

Juna could hold it no longer. Laughing, she gave his whiskers and affection tug,

"Aye, I did!" she giggled "I swear there's silver where there once was gold, in these whiskers of yours!"

Tristan threw down the apple and blade

"I'll show you 'old man', cheeky wench!" he growled affectionately. Without a thought he grabbed Juna's arms and pulled her across his lap causing another flutter of laughter to escape from her lips. Juna's fingers entwined within his shaggy locks as she pulled herself up to taste his warm mouth, still sweet from the taste of apples.

"I love you, Tristan." She breathed gently as she lay back in his arms.

The words just slipped so easily from her lips before she had even realised, leaving a hush of anticipation between them. For a moment they stayed silent. Juna, not believing she had just spoken aloud the secrets of her heart. Tristan, hardly daring to trust his own ears. Each searching the depths of the other's dark eyes, desperate to find a refection of their own devotion.

She looked so lovely, so innocent lying there in his arms, her eyes wide and glistening in trepidation of his reply.

'So this was love?' he thought to himself. This agonising yet heavenly longing that threatened to consume him in its intensity. She had given a name to the burden of his heart and he knew now it was so.

He let out a husky sigh. "My Juna….." he whispered as he bent to kiss her once more.

Juna looked up into his blazing eyes with no thoughts of anything save herself, Tristan and the moment and at that moment, she wanted so much to become his.

Not saying another word, Juna reached up and traced her tiny fingers along the dark markings upon the scout's cheek. Closing his eyes, Tristan fought desperately the feral passion that simmered within him in response to her gentle caress. Her touch tingled upon his skin as her fingertips began to trail across the downward curve of his lips and then glide through his soft whiskers. Tristan murmured rustily and began to feel his self-control slipping rapidly away. He reached up suddenly and grasped her wrist.

"Don't!" he whispered hoarsely. One second more and he would be lost, of that he had no doubt. He hungered for her so badly but it couldn't be like this. The offer of her love blazed in her eyes but how could he take her gift when she didn't really know to whom she was giving?

Opening his eyes once more, Tristan saw the bewilderment sweep across her face. He knew he had wounded her and he cursed himself for it.

Juna pulled herself up quickly from his lap and a sickening feeling of shame and confusion swept through her. Everything had seemed so right, hadn't it been what they had both wanted? Juna desperately tried to understand what she had done so wrong. Did he now think her a whore?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she managed to whisper, her voice trailing away, leaving an awkward silence settled upon them. She pulled her knees to her chest and lowered her head, trying to hide her now pale cheeks and the tears gathering upon her lashes.

Tristan sensed her distress and in a moment of panic realised that she was going to cry if he did not rescue this situation quickly.

"I offended you and you have no idea why" Tristan swallowed apprehensively, pausing for a reaction, but there was none. Awkwardly he tried to find the right words to carry on, acutely aware of the tears that threatened to fall at any moment "You have done no wrong. It is I….. I am not a charming man." he bumbled clumsily "and my manners leave a lot to be desired, I know….. I can be difficult and my moods well..." he shrugged despondently, not really knowing quite what it was he was trying to say but he found encouragement as Juna lifted her puzzled, tear filled eyes to look at him.

"There has to be truth between us, Juna…. I do not want what we have to be tainted by lies and half-truths." Juna stared in confusion and bewilderment. "Only, you don't really know who I am"

At those last words, Juna felt the shadow of unease settle deep within. What on earth was this man trying to tell her? Who was he if he wasn't Tristan, the enigmatic hunter who had stolen her heart with his crooked smile and mischievous eyes? After a moment she dared to ask

"Who are you, Tristan?" her tone was serious and low. He held her gaze steadily, running his tongue across his lip in contemplation of his next words.

"A knight." He shrugged finally "A Sarmatian knight"

He waited for her response, but none forthcoming he then he added with a light hearted smile "You know, one of those heathen, drunken whore-mongers your mother sheltered you from all these years"

But the reaction he waited for was not the one for which he hoped.

"You are a knight?" she replied hoarsely, the look of distress, plain upon her face. "But it cannot be…" she gasped.

Even as she spoke the words, she realised how blind and foolish she had been. That attractively arrogant air, the taint of an accent in his voice, that mysterious, exotic look - Was it not obvious to all but a silly little fool like her? But what did a man such as he want of _her, _she nothing more than a poor farmer's daughter? Was he indeed just as her mother had warned her? Juna's head began to throb with confusion and disbelief. Tristan could see the struggle in her eyes and knew he must act quickly before he lost his grip on her.

"I know what you're thinking Juna and it just isn't so, believe me." He spoke quickly but softly, a hint of desperation beginning to flicker in his eyes. "I have served my fifteen years…..by the morrow I will be a free man." Tristan paused to take a swallow "I have no wish to make you my whore….." he paused once more then, hardly believing he could hear himself say it, he added quietly "….I but offer you my name, my lady" and as the words fell, he knew he meant every one.

"You mock me!" Juna snapped angrily "What would a _knight_ want with a peasant such as me?" Her venomous retort took the scout quite by surprise, he expecting a gasp or a swoon at his rather unexpected declaration not vexation.

"Knight?" he threw back with a contemptible laugh "I am a slave, Juna! And tomorrow, with my freedom, I shall become nothing more than the orphaned son of a Sarmatian peasant farmer"

"Then why did you not tell me what you are?" she yelled

"And have you fear me? Have you speak only those words you thought right and proper? Have you humbled and submissive at me feet? Can you sit there before me now and deny that? Do you have any notion how it feels for one such as I, to be looked upon by you with such unconditional love and affection? There was no rank between us Juna, we were equal. Every smile, honest and beautiful. Believe me when I say, I am not a man who induces warmth easily from any one. If you'd known what I was you would have fled from me and I would have lost the one most innocent, truthful thing I've ever know in my whole sordid life."

Juna looked across at the man before her with his eyes so full of emotion and sincerity and found her heart aching to fall into his arms.

"But my mother, she…" Juna stuttered desperately.

"Your mother be damned! You are no child; you can choose your own destiny, Juna!" Tristan's voice grew suddenly loud and angry "If you doubt my devotion woman, then consider this. If I be the blaggard your mother would have you believe, then why did I not just take my fill and cast you aside when I had the chance?"

With a cry, Juna scrambled up from the ground and turned away. Her head was spinning and her heart pounding.

"Don't go" Tristan growled desperately, thinking her about to take flight. Getting quickly to his feet, he took hold of her arms firmly and turned her back to face him. "Look at me Juna. Am I suddenly the devil in your eyes? Am I not still the man you said you loved, just a few moments ago?"

"Let me go Tristan, I'm confused…I don't know what to think…please just…." she begged between sobs,

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll let you go, I swear."

The tears streamed down her cheeks, Tristan pulled her close kissing her face and tear soaked lips desperately. The taste of his lips was all it took to bring his woman back. Juna felt the love burst through her heart once more and chase away all her confusion and fear that had threatened her happiness and devotion to this man. She wrapped her arms around his waist and embraced his kiss desperately.

"Stay with me, Juna. Be mine" he pleaded softly between kisses "There's nothing left for me, without you"

Juna eased back from his embrace and looked up to see true love and sincerity gazing right back, begging for reciprocation. She was his captive once more, there was no doubt and she would show him her love and her belief in him, now at this very moment.

Tristan watched as she closed her eyes and saw the tremble of her lip as slowly she reached up her fingers and pulled gently at the laces on the neck of her dress.

"Do not tease me Juna." Tristan whispered huskily, feeling the ache of his desire rising swiftly "If this is not what you want. For pity's sake stop now, for I swear I shall not be able."

But she did not stop, feeling a trembling power shudder through her body as Tristan groaned at the sight of her breasts falling loose with the lace.

"I can't help but love you, my lord….make me yours" she whispered, lifting her lashes once more.

Tristan fell to his knees breathless and humbled before her. Reaching up he gently slipped the dress from her shoulders, watching as it fluttered lightly to the floor leaving her naked before him. Juna caught her breath and lowered her eyes shyly.

"You are beautiful, my Juna" He breathed as he sat back on his heels, his eyes on fire as they drank in the vision of innocent beauty before him and his breath heavy with the longing to touch.

He pulled off his tunic and threw it to the ground, eager to join her in her nakedness. Juna reached out and traced her fingertips gently through the dark curls that lay across his slender, muscular chest. Curling his hands around her hips, Tristan pulled her close and gently brushed the warm smooth curve of her breast with his lips, pausing to tease the now hard peak with his tongue. Juna gasped, entwining her fingers tightly through his hair, fighting the quiver of her legs and delighting in the touch of his mouth. Juna, her heart pounding wildly and drunk with desire, marvelled at the sense of hunger that pulsed between her thighs. She instinctively pressed closer, feeling the need to be touched there, wanting more. She stifled a whimper with her hand as Tristan trailed his warm moist tongue down the length of her body, stopping to kiss the soft curls that shrouded her maidenhood.

Tristan pulled down gently on her hips and she followed willingly as he laid her carefully upon the ground. She kissed his neck as he eased her onto her back and sighed as she felt his hand glide across her breast and down towards her waist. Tristan felt the spontaneous reply of her body as she arched, pressing closer and thought himself about to burst, truly amazed by her need. She was begging for his touch, pleading to be taken. Slipping his hand between her parting thighs he clasped his hot mouth upon hers in response to the gentle cry that escaped her lips as his fingers stroked the warm silky wetness. He throbbed ever more painfully as her hips began to rock with the rhythm of his probing fingers - inviting him, enticing him in. Her gentle whimpers of longing astounded him, left him breathless from his power until he could stand it no longer.

"Untie me" he demanded his voice heavy and thick with desire. A whispered moan of passion escaped him as her fingers set him free from his breeches and curled instinctively around his hard velvety length. Wrapping his own hand around his hers, he guided her inexperienced strokes up and down; groaning wildly as she took control.

"Stop, I beg you," he gasped eventually, he could take no more and fought desperately to stay his release. Juna wrapped her legs around his waist eagerly as he moved above her. He looked down to find her glistening eyes shining up,believing inhim, longing for him.

Juna murmured passionately as she felt him press upon her, poised finally to make her his own. He felt the veil of her innocence resist against him; He paused and then pushed gently but firmly, kissing her once again as the cry of pain escaped from her lips.

"My brave girl." He whispered tenderly as he kissed away a tear that trailed across her cheek. "Forgive me"

Juna clung to him desperately as he slowly began to move within her, feeling the burning pain quickly chased away by an unimaginable pleasure that grew with every stroke. Tristan encouraged her impassioned cries with his own husky growls of hunger. She felt herself being swept away, closing her eyes she sank her fingers deep into his taut, muscular buttocks, wanting him faster, harder, feeling herself teetering on the edge of some incredible edifice. With one last cry Juna's body shuddered and trembled as she felt herself tumble over the edge, engulfed in an almost unbearable wave of passion. Tristan's own climax burst forth to meet her own. Arching his back he plunged himself deep inside her,roaring wildly as he shook, feeling the incredible surge of his juices rushing forth.

"At last you are mine" he whispered, breathless as he collapsed into her arms.


	6. The Memories

**A huge thank you to you all, _Wild-Vixen_, _Priestess of the Myrmidon_, _La Argentinita_, _Addicted2LancelottAndTristan, Lucillaq, Aquamum, Anarane 2, Anthemis-nobilis _and everyone else for reading. Sorry it's taken so long but I'm just not gifted with literary speed! LOL!**

**Chapter 6 - The Memories**

Juna reached out her hands and traced her fingers lovingly over the tatty head by her lap. Tristan looked up, his eyes smiling at her welcome touch.

"There" he spoke quietly, as he tied the last sandal lace tightly above Juna's ankle.

Juna peeped shyly from beneath her lashes and whispered her thanks. Despite the intimacy they had shared, having this man at her feet with his fingertips brushing the bare skin upon her legs still gave Juna cause to blush. Tristan chuckled gently, her enchanting innocence warming his heart, as always and remembering how she had unfolded in his hands, wanting him, needing him, loving him. She had left him breathless and loving her more than he could ever have believed possible.

Tristan stood up and offered his hand. Juna accepted reluctantly, sadness tainting her eyes, knowing that the time had come to part once again. There had been no mention of the future, no plans beyond that moment and so with nervous apprehension, Juna compelled herself to ask,

"What will you do when you have your freedom?" casting him a hesitant glance as she did so.

Tristan gave a nonchalant shrug, sensing her trepidation with amusement. How could she still doubt his devotion?

"Go back to Sarmatia…"he reflected casually "find a wife, have sons and tend pigs, most likely"

He may as well have pierced her heart with his sword. His words leaving her wounded and sick, unable to raise her eyes for fear that the stinging tears already brimming upon the lashes would tumble down her now ashen cheeks. There was silence a moment longer until she heard his low husky chuckle once again.

Juna's eyes darted up to catch the look of mischief in those of her lover and relief over whelmed her.

"That is of course, if I cannot persuade a certain pretty laundress of my love for her and induce her to take my name."

Tristan leaned close, his whiskered lips brushing faintly across Juna's cheek as he whispered teasingly

"She has taken everything else I have to offer….most eagerly too, I might add. So what are my chances, d'you think?"

Juna's heart pounded with joy, whilst her cheeks flushed again from the memory of their love-making, but still, she could not resist the temptation to repay his shenanigans.

"She'll have to have time to think on it, my lord" she answered with a haughty toss of her head.

Tristan leant back to catch her gaze, his eyes narrowing, searching for mirth.

"For she has a very tempting offer from the Fletcher's son to consider!"

Although jest clearly danced in her eyes, a hint of jealousy still flashed across his quizzical brow.

"A Fletcher's son? Be damned! And what could he have that tempts _my_ lady's eye?" he spat, hardly able to contain his contemptuous tone.

Juna fought to hold her laughter; she would teach him to play games with her.

"Oh… about ten summers less than you… and a tidy mop of hair!" She giggled as Tristan pulled her firmly into his arms.

"So, it is a boy you want and not a man?" he growled as he rained hot kisses upon her face and neck. "Show me this boy and I will have his head! For I will share you with no one."

Juna laughed and returned her knight's caresses hungrily. Pausing for breath, Juna took his face in her hands, kissed the tip of his nose lightly and chuckled

"My Lord, there is no Fletcher's son, as well you know!" The laughter fading, she added gently "There's no one in my heart, but you!"

Tristan tilted back his head and stared down at Juna from beneath his shroud of unruly locks. Over-whelmed by the conviction that echoed in her words, he wondered just what it was he had done in his life, for the Gods to have blessed him so.

"Then I shall go to your mother and claim what is mine" he said as he pulled her close, only to feel her tense in his arms, just as soon as he'd spoken.

"No, Tristan!" Juna begged suddenly "You mustn't, not yet, please!"

Tristan felt his jaw-line tighten at the sound of her anxious appeal and along with it, fled his elated mood.

"Are you ashamed to be seen on the arm of a Sarmatian?" He asked slowly, a shadow casting across his furrowed brow as he set her down and took a step back.

"Don't say that! Don't you ever say that again!" Juna cried, angry that such a suggestion should come from his lips. "I look at you and I damn near burst with pride!"

Tristan said nothing and made no move to close the distance he had just put between them. He waited instead, to hear some semblance of a satisfactory explanation.

"You have to understand, I must be the one to tell her. I am all she has, Tristan and I fear her prejudices against you and your kind will not be so easily waylaid."

But Tristan didn't really understand at all. Juna was a grown woman, he was a knight and she was already his in all but name, anyhow. He had long since forgotten the traditions and propriety of respectable family kinship but the beseeching look upon her face and the certainty of her devotion was enough reason for him to yield. Heaving an impatient sigh, he shook his head wearily and took her once more into his arms. Juna slipped her arms gratefully around his waist and held him close, closing her eyes when she felt his gentle kiss upon her hair.

"I leave tomorrow" he breathed huskily, his accent heavy upon his voice "to meet and escort back the Roman emissary that carries the release papers. We will be back by nightfall. You have until the next morrow, for then I shall be coming for you…. whether you have spoken or not" the words, steady and serious, left Juna in no doubt of his determination and she felt an exquisite thrill run through her body. So passionate, so resolute, it made her weak with pride and happiness that he could love her so.

"I will be waiting" she whispered as her hands slipped beneath his tunic and glided across the warm skin of his back. She felt him tremble slightly at her touch and smiled. Both knew they should have parted long since, but neither could care less as slowly, their fingers began to loosen each others laces once more.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Dagonet sat alone in the large stable, all was silent but for the rhythmic grind of stone upon metal as he sharpened the blade of the huge battle-axe that he had been his faithful companion in conflict since the day he had finally found strength enough to yield the monster above his head. The others had long since left for wine and song at the tavern, leaving the big knight, who had declined the invitation most stubbornly, alone with his thoughts.

Just like his friend Tristan, the forthcoming promise of freedom had brought with it the touch of fear and loneliness. The last few weeks had seen the scarred but handsome face of Dagonet, clouded with the memories of love and tears - the hope of one day holding in his arms once again, the girl that haunted his dreams - she being the only reason he had made it through these last fifteen years. As he once more remembered her tear stained face stood watching him being led away, shackled but still fighting - the clod of horse's hooves drew him back from the cold, wind swept plains of Sarmatia. It was Tristan.

The scout nodded his greeting as he led his stallion to an empty stall and there began unbuckling the tack without a word to his friend. Their squire Jols, he knew would be now enjoying what was left of the evening in the tavern and Tristan had no wish to deprive him of his well earned relaxation. He was content to see to his own horse and besides, like Dagonet, he was in no mood for ale and dice, tonight.

Dagonet eyed his silent friend carefully as he continued to sharpen the heavy axe blade with expert precision. He knew that look, but never had he seen it worn by the scout. He was happy for his friend and hoped he would find his peace now. Peace that he himself had clung to, with the hope of one day returning home to find once more. Peace, that he knew in the deepest caverns of his heart, would be waiting for him no longer.

"So, the wanderer returns" he mumbled amiably, his eye still fixed firmly upon the scout.

"I am in trouble again, I take it?" Tristan snorted, amused while Dagonet return the gesture with a low rumbling chortle,

"Aye lad, but she is worth it, no?" he asked, his eyes smiling across at Tristan who said nothing, but merely continued to unstrap his saddle. "Will she go with you, my friend?"

Surprised, Tristan looked up sharply and searched for amusement in the grey eyes of his friend but found only the good-hearted sincerity so natural to the man. Eventually, the scout replied with a shrug and then heaved the saddle from his horse and dropped it to the floor with a thud.

"She refused you?" the big man asked again quietly as he set down the large axe in his hand, a concerned look creeping across his scarred brow. Tristan considered his answer for a moment. To confide in another did not come easily to him, but all the same, he found it almost impossible to repress the desire to share the hopes and fears of his new found love, with another.

"No" he murmured, the glimmer of a smile shadowing his lips at the memory. "But there are…complications"

Dagonet smiled sadly and lent back against the hay bale with a sigh of contemplation.

"When I am free….I shall ride home, my friend. And what shall I find when I get there, do you think?" Tristan glanced over but gave no reply. "Do you think she still waits for me, Tristan?"

Tristan narrowed his eyes, perplexed by the melancholy that seemed to have enveloped his friend. They were not so unalike, he and Dagonet, Tristan thought to himself. Both quiet and singular in their own way. Both carrying their burdens. Unwilling, or perhaps unable, to share the load with another.

Tristan remained silent and then walked over to sit himself down next to Dagonet. A few days ago he would have had no idea of the feelings this man was experiencing right now, He would not have understood, as he did now, the look of sadness and the longing of his heart. But how could one expect to understand the complexities of love, when one had never known love before?

"Fifteen years is a long time, Dag" Tristan answered quietly, a faint whisper of sadness in his tone "I fear, I cannot give you the answer you wish for"

Dagonet turned his almost tear filled eyes to meet his friends. He knew Tristan spoke the truth but until that moment he had never dared to believe it. How could he possibly hope that his heart would still be there waiting for him after all these years?

"You have found your love, Tristan – embrace it. For what is the point of living if not to love and be loved? For if she waits for me no longer… then these years have been for nothing…"

With that Dagonet rose and walked silently away.


	7. The Tavern

**First can I apologise (yet again!) for the delay in updating. Life has been a fraught recently and with one thing and another I just haven't been able to spend time on my computer as I so often like to do. Secondly, thank you all for reading & for all your support. It means so much.**

**CHAPTER 7**

"Gentleman, your dispatch papers with safe conduct across the Roman Empire. But first, I must have a word with your Commander….in private"

The eyes of each of Arthur's men all turned suspiciously towards the pretentious voice of the Roman who sat to the left of their leader. Bishop Germanus' malevolent black eyes stared unfalteringly back, fixing his gaze particularly upon that of the one he knew to be Arthur's first knight. Germanus gave Lancelot a slow sardonic smile in reply to the contemptuous glare that met him, clearly enjoying the position of supremacy the small wooden casket which held their papers of freedom before him, gave.

Lancelot stayed silent, grinding his teeth painfully, showing no effort to hide his loathing.

Horton, the Bishop's aide, a snivelling, pompous little man, fidgeted nervously in the back ground. He was clearly in private battle, feeling it his duty to step up and chastise the unpalatable rabble for their disrespect but severely lacking the moral fibre needed to confront the Eastern savages before him.

"We have no secrets here" Arthur's even, respectful tone severed the mounting tension and in response the Bishop slammed shut the casket before him, casting a challenging glower sweeping across every knight at the table, daring anyone of them to defy his request, no matter what their commander had said. He held their freedom at his fingertips and he would leave not one of these vulgar barbarians thinking otherwise.

Knowing defiance now would be futile and utterly foolish, Lancelot slowly rose from his seat, the others following his lead with equal leisure.

"Come. Let's leave Roman business…. to Romans." His voice was rank with contempt as he shot a dark humourless smile toward Arthur.

Arthur felt the accusation keenly but his emerald eyes betrayed not a flicker of disapproval as he nodded his head in thanks for his men's compliance.

The knights each drained the wine that stood before them, slamming their gold goblet down with seething arrogance. Then slowly and begrudgingly, did as they were bayed and began leaving the room. All except for Tristan, who as he eased himself up from his seat, seemed far more interested in the gleaming gold vessel that he was examining closely in his hands, than the silent hostility going on around him.

He wasn't one for trinkets, they held no real enticement for him, but it did occur that maybe Juna's mother might find it an acceptable gift. Women liked pretty things, he knew that about them at least and he figured it would be worth a coin or two. God knows he had nothing else to offer as a betrothal gift and it would probably soothe away any objections the woman might hold against him. Tristan gave a low sardonic grunt at the thought. Funny how this shiny yellow metal could do that so easily – Tristan buffed the goblet upon his sleeve admiringly and a little smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Yes, this would do just fine.

Just then, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he glanced sideways to catch an anxious young valet stepping forward to relieve him of his treasure. Tristan narrowed his eyes and scowled at the boy, at which the boy quickly lowered his head and stepped nervously back.

Tristan smiled to himself once more and paying the lad no more attention, he tucked the goblet safely into his tunic and followed the others out of the hall.

---------------

The whisper of distant voices and laughter carried upon the cool night breeze and Juna knew at long last she had reached the fortress. Encouraged by the sound, her step quickened and her heartbeat skipped in almost perfect rhythm. More than once she had turned to go back, thinking this a fool hardy and pointless escapade.

Slipping out under the cover of darkness, her journey led by nothing more than the light of the quarter moon, Juna had hurried along the long muddy road that she hoped would lead her to Tristan.

Again and again she said a silent prayer for her mother not to wake and find her gone before she returned back to her bed and another for Tristan to have arrived safely back from his day's journey and be there when she arrived. Though she doubted God would take any heed of _her_ prayers.

The past hour had led many a thought swirling around Juna's head. Not least, the distinct wish to stop Tristan from coming to claim her on the morrow as he had said he would. The day had not gone well with her mother, especially following the dreadful evening of the previous day when Juna had finally arrived home.

Her mother had not been fooled by Juna's desperate professions of virtue which answered her enraged accusations of sin. She had seen that look upon her daughter's face as she had wandered through the door. It was unmistakable. That wistful, smiling look of awakening that shone in her eyes, where that morning, had only shone chaste innocence.

Protestations of God's wrath and threats of hellfire and damnation served nothing more than to terrify Juna into resolute denials of any wrong doing. In truth she couldn't care less about God's Wrath; it was her mother's wrath that petrified her and the knowledge that it was she that had caused her so much pain. Juna could no more bear to have the mother she loved so dearly, think so badly of her, than she could bear the thought of forsaking the man she loved and so it was impossible for her to admit her sin.

She was no whore, there was no secret lover, she swore over and over until eventually all the tears and fury turned to stony silence. That, for the time being at least, Juna was forbidden to wander from her mother's sight didn't need to be said.

That night, Juna had lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of her mother's gentle weeping. Her own silent, guilty tears steadily falling. The following morning, Juna had felt such shame when she had looked into her mother's eyes. The anger was gone, only pain and lament remained. How could she sit back and wait for Tristan to come knocking on the door after she had sworn her innocence so fervently? She knew she had to stop him, somehow. He would understand, he would give her more time, he had too.

Juna stopped for a moment and looked ahead. Her eyes caught the warm glow of torch light just a little way ahead, which seemed to welcome her arrival. As her eyes searched she could now make out the stone buildings and battlements silhouetted against the night sky. She let out a sigh that was a mixture of nervous excitement and relief. Reassuring her self that Tristan would be there and he would gather her up into his arms and all would be well again.

Just then in the distance, the woeful call of a wolf echoed along the hills. Such a melancholy song and yet somehow so beautiful, it seemed almost to be calling just for her. Juna looked to the sound, listening for a moment and an unexplainable sadness swept gently through. Was he calling her back or urging her on? Juna hardly knew.

Pulling the heavy woollen hood over her head and grasping the cloak tightly around, she took a deep breath and made her way towards the glowing light and voices ahead.

--------------

Still wrapped well within the protection of the cloak and hood, Juna stepped timidly toward the raucous gathering of strangers. Her brown eyes darted back and forth, desperately searching for the familiar face of her lover among those of drunken Roman soldiers, bawdy wenches and all manner of brutish looking revellers. Juna had had no idea what to expect when she finally made it to the fort, but much to her relief, she had passed like a ghost through the courtyard, unmolested and unchallenged. No one had given the small, inconspicuous figure a second glance.

Juna moved a little closer within the tavern, her confidence beginning to grow now as her presence remained unnoticed. Stretching up on her toes, Juna strained to see every face when just behind her a bellowing voice hollered

"Vanora! Where are ya, gal? Where's my boy, woman? I wanna see my boy?"

Juna found her self knocked from her feet by a large, shaven headed bull of a man barging his way through the crowd, clearing his path of bodies with effortless ease. He did not stop as he flung Juna aside, totally oblivious to the startled cry as she fell into the arms of a knight just rising from his seat.

"Blast you boy!" Lancelot snapped, unruffled as always, but somewhat annoyed as he pushed the unwelcome intrusion roughly out of his grasp.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to.."

Lancelot raised a single brow in surprise and looked down at the hooded figure before him. If he was not mistaken, that was a woman's voice he heard just now. He thought he knew all the women that frequented this tavern. Curious, Lancelot leant low and peeked beneath the hood, smiling when he met the shy, wide eyed face of Juna staring back.

"Well now, this is no place for a little thing like you." Lancelot mused as he slipped the woollen hood from her head.

Loving nothing more than the prospect of a fresh new face to warm his bed, Lancelot's dark eyes swiftly began to scrutinise the sight before him. He quickly considered her somewhat unremarkable to look at, but obviously clean and that was always a bonus. But she had that somewhat virtuous air about her and he knew instantly she was no game for him and his initial interest waned.

"You should run off back where you came from." Lancelot smiled, politely dismissing her "There are beasts in here that would eat you alive!"

If she had been a little more enticing to look at, then maybe she would have been worth the effort it would take to bed her, but Lancelot was tired and not in the mood for a chase tonight.

"I am looking for someone, Sir. The knight named Tristan; I thought I may find him here"

Lancelot's attention was immediately snared at the mention of the scout's name and his black eyes began to glint with curiosity once again. Turning back to Juna once more he asked, somewhat amused.

"Tristan? Now what could _you_ possibly want with Tristan?"

Juna flushed a little, aware of the mirth that soaked the man's words, "He is my…my friend, Sir – I need to speak with him"

Lancelot stood amazed. So, this was she? This unassuming, plain little creature was Tristan's secret. He almost laughed allowed. What a dark horse that friend of his was. This was not what he expected at all. The play thing of some wealthy Roman's bored and debauched wife, perhaps but not this. Lancelot hadn't realised how near he had been to the truth with all those jests about good Christian maidens. Suddenly, Lancelot didn't feel so tired after all.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? I am Lancelot"

For a few moments it was all Juna could do but stare in disbelief at the devilishly handsome man before her. Lancelot, he had said his name was Lancelot! Dear Lord but the girls back at her village would never believe this, never! Lancelot smiled knowingly, pausing to enjoy the effect his name always had on the ladies,

"and this huge great oaf sat here with me, is Dagonet." The spell broken at last, Juna now looked toward a large, shaven headed man sat across the table, her eyes unsurprisingly drawn to a long jagged scar that meandered it's way across one eye and down the length of his otherwise fine looking face.

"He may look like something spawned from hell, my lady but he is completely harmless, I assure you…. Please, sit with us. We are expecting Tristan to join us soon."

In an awkward display of courtesy, Dagonet stumbled to his feet, upsetting the table with his huge long legs as he stood up. Grinning broadly his welcome to Juna, she smiled in return, warmed and reassured by the friendly sparkle in his kind and gentle eyes and they all three of them sat down together.

Juna's heart thumped in her breast and the colour flushed her cheeks as Lancelot's dark glinting eyes found hers once more, giving her one of his well practised, and seductive smiles. But as young and inexperienced as she was, Juna did not fail to sense this was just another one of many inconsequential and fallacious smiles this man bestowed whenever the occasion called for it. He was a charmer, a seducer of women. That was plainly obvious, exactly the sort of man her mother warned her of. It had not gone unnoticed to Juna that just a few moments ago he was dismissing her without a thought. One mention of Tristan and he was curling himself around her like a snake. But there was no malice behind his look. Mischief perhaps, but not malice and Juna quickly came to the conclusion that although he would not fool her with his predatory magnetism, he was beneath it, not such a bad man and she liked him well enough.

"What's your name?" Dagonet asked suddenly, making an effort to gentle his usual deep, growling voice.

The woman seemed so small and fragile, that Dagonet was nervous of startling her and he could see Lancelot was already considering making his move and he was determined to put a stop to that nonsense immediately. He was such as bastard at times, Dagonet thought, he knew Lancelot wouldn't have looked twice at the girl had he not discovered she was Tristan's. But he also knew that had Lancelot suspected her anything more than just the wench that was presently warming the scout's bed; he would never seriously try to pursue her onto her back. Lancelot was a bastard at times, but not that much of a bastard.

"Juna" she smiled back. Much to his relief she seemed now most comfortable in their company and indeed she was. This strangely surreal scene had pushed all Juna's fears and anxiety from her mind and she was beginning to feel a welcome relaxation and enjoyment of her surroundings.

"Ale?" Dagonet asked Juna jovially.

"No thank you, Sir." She replied politely. Dagonet smiled and insisted she call him Dagonet.

"Oh, come now – you _must_ have a drink. This is a tavern after all." Lancelot cut in with another of his enticing grins.

Not giving Juna time to protest, he clicked his fingers at a passing red-headed wench, who immediately stopped and filled another mug and placed it down in front of him. The woman gave out a shriek of laughter as Lancelot grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap.

"When are you going to leave Bors and come home with me?" He cooed as he nuzzled her neck. The Red head pushed him away with an unconvincing look of offence.

"My lover is watching." She chastised as she expertly evaded his grasp, giggling once more as Lancelot slapped her backside playfully. Juna laughed, a little embarrassed and looked away. Oh yes, he was definitely one of _those_ men her mother had warned her of.

Still grinning wickedly, Lancelot turned his attention back to the girl by his side.

"There my lady." He cooed smoothly as he slowly pushed the mug towards her, ignoring the warning glare from his friend across the table. "Drink up, now"

There was nothing for it but to thank the knight cordially, after which she cast her wide eyes around the noisy, bawdy drinking den. So this was Tristan's world? She thought, amazed. Here she was, sat in a tavern full of drunken Romans and wanton wenches, drinking ale with two Sarmatian knights. Everything seemed so bizarre and strangely thrilling. Juna knew she should be mortified but she could not help her feelings. She liked it here, it was exciting and bursting with life. So different from the quiet, uneventful existence she had led in the tiny village that had been her world until now.

"So…_Juna_" Lancelot began, again persisting for her attention "Tell me about you and my dear friend, Tristan…."

Juna suddenly became aware of the warmth of a hand that had somehow slipped unnoticed around her waist, which began to caress its way smoothly up toward her neck. A little perturbed, Juna began to ease further and further back, only to be followed by Lancelot leaning closer and closer. Suddenly, the sharp pain of Dagonet's boot in his shin made Lancelot shoot up in his seat, grimacing furiously. But an angry exchange was halted immediately when both Dagonet and Lancelot saw Juna's face light up as she caught sight of her lover striding his way towards them.

He was here at last and it suddenly seemed to Juna there was no one else around, no one but him. So feral-like and wild, yet so graceful. Her heart burst with love as he moved through the crowds towards her.

But her radiance faded rapidly as he approached with a frighteningly dark shadow upon his brow.

Reaching the table, he leaned down low to face Juna eye to eye.

"_What in hells name are you doing here_?" he hissed between clenched teeth as he grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her from her seat.

Juna gave out a hurt cry, grimacing from the sting of his possessive grip. Not caring to wait for a reply, Tristan dragged her, staggering behind him, making himself a protective shield between her and the knights at the table.

"Gods, Tristan! What is up with you, man?" implored Lancelot standing up from his seat, clearly appalled with his friend's reaction.

"You'd be best served to remember this is no business of yours!" Tristan spat angrily "Sit down, mind your ale!"

Dagonet looked at the scout with sad, disappointed eyes, but said nothing. Lancelot grit his teeth and then opened his mouth to protest once more

"Just give me the excuse, Lancelot" Tristan whispered venomously as he moved in swiftly, their brows almost touching as they eyed each other threateningly.

"Leave it, Lance." Dagonet warned in a low but insistent voice.

A few tense moments later, Lancelot, ever the more sensible of the two, breathed his restraint and wisely took a step back. He held up his hands in submission and sat himself back down.

Without another word, Tristan turned and strode swiftly away, dragging Juna unceremoniously behind him.

"Jesus Dag, what's with him?" Lancelot demanded, still smoothing down his ruffled plumage "It's just a bloody wench, for Christ's sake"


	8. The Anger

**I can't believe I've mananged to get this one posted so quickly! lol! **

**I hope you all enjoy it - A big thank you to all my readers and reviewers, your support is invaluable**. :)

**Chapter 8**

When he reached the stable, the scout swung Juna in front of him and finally released his painful grasp.

Juna staggered forward almost losing her feet and then turned to face him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears and her trembling little hand anxiously rubbing the painful sting of his fingers left upon her wrist. For what seemed an eternity to both, there was silence but for the enraged rise and fall of the scout's breath echoed only by that of Juna's stifled sobs as she battled desperately to stop the anguished flow of tears from falling.

Tristan began his predatory pace back and forth, his brow furrowed and dark and his fingertips pressed painfully upon his temples as he tried to stay the powerful throb that pulsed there.

Juna watched his display, distraught and completely mystified as to what crime she was guilty of. She felt all too keenly the painful rise of emotion in her throat, a sickening combine of confusion and hurt. But unable to stand the silent pacing any longer, Juna swallowed back her tears and took a deep breath

"What is it I have done, Tristan?" she dared to ask, her voice a wavering whisper.

Quickly wiping away the wells of tears with the palms of her hands, she straightened herself up tall, anxious to find some form of composure with which to meet whatever accusations would fly her way.

Tristan stopped dead in his tracks and swiftly cast his dark eyes upon her. For a moment Juna was held mesmerised by the tense muscles of his jaw line which twitched painfully through the silver tipped whiskers upon his face. How beautiful she had once thought that face to be, how terrifying and ugly it seemed to her now.

"You have no place here, woman" he growled at last. "What in Christ's name were you thinking?"

Juna stared back in bewilderment at the man before her. The eyes that had before danced with mischief and affection for her, were now a stranger's eyes, hard and cruel looking. She saw, stood before her, not the roguish hunter she loved, but the battled hardened knight she knew not at all.

"I….I was waiting for you" she whispered hoarsely

"Waiting for me?..._Were you_, by the Gods?" Tristan, his voice thick with derision, once again began his endless pacing before her.

Why did she have to come here? Why did she have to step into this life of his? This life of death and depravity which he was so close to escaping from? He needed so badly to tell her how alive he became when he was with her. How dead his soul had been these last fifteen years and just when he thought there was nothing for him beyond his life of butchery and whores, she had looked into his eyes and for the first time in his life he had known what it was to be loved. How could he make her understand how precious she was to him? For her to have come here and sit within the nightmare of his life, seemed to have tainted the peace and shelter she held for him. He had wanted nothing more than to protect the sweet innocence that warmed his heart. Why could she not see that? How was he to explain? Regret was beginning to creep its way upon him as he fought to make sense of his own actions and find the words now to redeem himself.

Juna again took a swallow and whispered once more

"I had to see you…Lancelot said you…."

Just as he felt the words he needed beginning to form, the sound of that name on her lips sent a bolt a fury through Tristan and he almost leapt upon her

_"Lancelot?_..."he snarled, his furious expression slowly twisting into that of scorn "Ah yes, forgive me for that, Juna… I fear my unfortunate timing thwarted his journey under your skirts"

Juna gasped, the vulgar accusation almost robbing her of breath.

"He offered me a seat to await your arrival. I am guilty of nothing more, Sir!" She defended quickly.

"_Sir?_..Oh, _Sir_ is it now?" Tristan roared contemptuously. The formality of her address pierced even more than the mention of Lancelot and he felt the overwhelming desire to cause her equal pain in response. "_You were swilling ale and cavorting like a common whore!"_ He spat cruelly, wanting desperately, the triumph of seeing her tears fall.

The accusation cut Juna like a blade but instead of tears, she felt anger rise into her throat

"_How dare you_!" She hissed, pushing him fiercely away "I was waiting for YOU…at the place where YOU spend your night's swilling ale and_ cavorting with common whores_!"

This unexpected attack took Tristan completely off guard. At a loss for words, he just glared as Juna continued to shove at his chest, her efforts all but wasted as he stood his ground determinedly, biting at his bottom lip as he found this startling nerve of hers both infuriating and arousing.

"_That_ is the reason is it not, you don't want me here?" Juna yelled, still shoving vainly at the unwavering man before her." You have hidden behind your mask well, _Sir knight_! I know nothing of your world and that has made it easy for you to play your games, Im sure!" Juna gave a despairing laugh and gave up her fruitless assault "A _Sarmatian knight and a village peasant! _How you must have laughed at me! The folly was worth it, I hope"

Juna's anger turned rapidly to the tears that just a moment ago he had wanted to see fall but now filled him with such shame to witness.

"Why did I have to come here?" she wept to herself. "I wish I'd never set eyes on you"

Still silent, Tristan shook his head and found his temples pulsing ever more painfully as Juna stepped aside and hurried to the stable door. She was slipping through his fingers and he was letting her go. Feeling his body begin to tremble with anger and fear he gave out a roar and swiftly turned in pursuit. Tristan grabbed at the collar of her dress and pulled her backwards into his arms.

"_Don't you dare leave me, woman_!." He hissed with infuriated desperation. Juna cried out as he clasped her chin tightly within his strong, slender fingers and kissed her hard on the mouth.

Juna let out a muffled shriek of panic and struggled to free herself from his bruising embrace.

Freeing her lips for just a moment, his hungry eyes searched hers, hoping almost to see a glimmer of the rising desire he was feeling, reflecting back. But he saw only the look of a terrified fawn awaiting its fate in the clutches of a wolf and he felt nausea in the depths of his stomach to see it.

Her eyes glistened with fear and he felt utter self contempt that it was he that had made her feel so. He, who time and again swore to himself how he would love and protect this woman, now held her terrified and despising in his arms. His face softened with remorse as he whispered

"Do not look at me with those eyes…I would never hurt you." Tristan's eyes where wide as he licked his lips, swallowing whilst waiting in anticipation of her reaction.

Now free from the clutches of his fingers, Juna turned her head away and closed her eyes as if ridding herself of the sight of him. Tristan felt a sickening pain sear through his heart.

"Look at me..." he pleaded hoarsely "_Look at me._ _Damn you_!….I never mean't to…"

"Please Sir, let me go!" Juna begged, refusing to listen or open her eyes.

Tristan gave a desperate sigh and pulled her up close once more. As he tried to steal a kiss of forgiveness, Juna pushed away his face and struggled in his grasp, crying

"Don't touch me! Let me go, I beg you!"

Tristan paused, utterly shell shocked and at a loss for what to do. Did his kiss truly repulse her, could she really no longer stand the sight of him? How had it all come to this? How had he got it all so wrong? His insistence, he saw could only bring more fear and derision and not able to bear the rejection any longer, Tristan slowly relented and set her free from his arms. Juna took no time hurrying from his grasp and for a moment there was grave, almost intolerable silence between them.

"Go then, If that's what you want" Tristan murmured at long last, quietly defeated but still holding on to the hope she would stay. But to his utter dismay, Juna moved to take her leave. Panic gripped him once more and he made an impulsive grab for her wrist and held her fast.

"You don't love me..." he snarled, the unbearable pain of losing her twisting itself into ugly contempt "You never did ….did you?…_DID YOU_?" Nothing could have prepared him for her answer, nothing and he felt his heart crumble with every word.

"No, I don't love you." Juna whispered, her voice as broken as her heart "You are nothing more than a heartless, cruel bully. I don't even know who you are. I once loved a man named Tristan but he was nothing more than the ridiculous fancy of a foolish laundry maid."

Tristan felt her little hand slip from his and unable to lift his head to watch her retreating figure, he heard only the soft rustle of her footsteps upon the hay as she hurried away and he knew then, she was gone. He was empty and lost but could neither find the words to speak nor the strength to move from where he stood.

Just as he thought himself about to explode a voice shattered the unbearable strain

"Tristan, Arthur is here…there's something you need to hear."

Tristan looked up to see Jols, the squire stood silhouetted at the stable door.

------------

Tristan sat alone in his usual corner of the tavern just staring at the floor, his face expressionless, his eyes cold but bloodshot from ale. His head still throbbed and within him lingered a nauseating emptiness that no matter how much he drunk, just could not be quenched. He had retreated into his more familiar silent, iron clad shell to nurse his wounds, but still the sting of Juna's last words simmered agonizingly within his heart.

Nothing his commander had said that night mattered to him now. Not the revelation of that snivelling Roman bastard's new ransom for their freedom, not Bors' furious accusations of Arthur's betrayal, nor Galahad's ceaseless whining about his enforced duty to Roman being done and wanting to spill blood no more. If it was the encroaching Saxon Galahad was afraid of, then the annoying young pup should stay home and Tristan had had no qualms in telling him so. A welcomed tussle with the boy had sadly been stopped before it began by Dagonet's ever faithful and level headed reason.

No, nothing mattered now. Juna was lost and there was nothing left for him save this one last mission up into Woad territory. It was a suicide mission if ever there was one, but Tristan welcomed it. Woads on all sides and the Saxon barbarians marching in from the North – the odds of survival were absurd. Still, he had nothing better to do, he had thought with a scornful grunt.

Tristan raised the half filled mug to his mouth once more. He was slowly loosing himself to the grips of the twisted and distorted fancies alcohol eventually bestows and he was powerless to fight it. Why had he tried to fool himself he could be anything other than the soulless wretch he was? He thought desperately. So determined he had been to covert the innocence of Juna for himself, he believed he had become the very thing that had destroyed it and now she had seen him for what he was and despised him for it. What did he expect? He asked himself as he took another sup, all he knew was how to destroy. She had given him light in his life and he had extinguished her own in return. Tristan chuckled into his mug, a low disdainful chuckle. But she had never loved him, she said as much herself, he thought suddenly. He had loved _her_, of that there was no doubt. For the first time in his life, he had dared to release his heart and what had she done? Trampled it beneath her feet, that's what. Even pushed him away, not caring to hide the repulsion she felt at his touch, the strumpet. Oh, she had led him a merry dance that was for sure. She had truly deceived him with her falsehoods, probably sat there laughing at him now. What a deceptive little whore she was and he had fallen for it hook, line and all.

Tristan stood up, wavering slightly as the brew swam through his veins. Once again he felt rage begin to rise to his throat until he thought he might choke. Damn that bitch of woman! If she were here now he'd snap that pretty neck of hers and watch with jubilant satisfaction as the contemptuous smile faded from her lips. He had to get away from here, he felt stifled within the bawdy confines of the tavern but just as he turned to leave he caught sight of Laina sat across the way, draped across the lap of a young Roman infantryman.

Maybe she was what he needed tonight? He could bare the memories of Juna's rejection no longer and as the drink was not working its magic, he could think of no better distraction to rid her from his mind. Steadying himself a little, Tristan made his way over towards Laina's table.

"Come on!" he barked as he grabbed her wrist.

"Hey, get your filthy hands of me scout! Aint I told you before; you've had your last ride with this girl, Remember?"

Tristan simply untied his purse from his belt and threw it on the table before her to which Laina pushed it leisurely away.

"You could never have gold enough to tempt me, you Sarmatian scum. Now get lost!" Laina laughed and turned her attention back to the soldier by her side, giving Tristan not another thought. Tristan, stony faced and silent walked away and disappeared in the general direction of the stable, only to return a few moments later.

"Is that gold enough for you?" he growled as he slung the golden wine goblet that had once been meant as a betrothal gift, towards the whore.

Laina gave out a dumbfounded gasp as the shining vessel crashed across the wooden table into her hands. She picked it up and examined it closely, all the while her eyes wide with astonishment and greed.

Turning to the soldier, she gave a spurious pout and laughed "Sorry darlin', got me a little business somewhere else tonight. Another time maybe."

The soldier found it pointless to complain as Laina was dragged quickly away by the impatient scout, before he had time to even open his mouth to speak.

----------

"What? You wannit 'ere?" For the price he had paid, Laina had expected a little more than a fumble behind the armoury, thinking a warm bed for the night had most certainly been in the offing.

"Just shut your mouth and get on your Goddamn knees" Tristan hissed as he leant himself back against the wall.

"Whatever you say, _Sir_! " Laina sighed, nonchalantly "It's your gold."

Kneeling before him, Laina tugged at the laces on his breeches and began to purr her usual, well practised seductive spiel meant to encourage and hasten the act on, ultimately saving her time and effort, which was all that mattered to her.

"Oh, someone's having a little trouble tonight, it seems!" She teased as her hands curled around his barely rigid member.

Laina snorted, greatly amused at his lack of prowess. She knew the scout and his usually demanding and virile appetite well and this was more than justa surprising turn of events.

"What exactly do you want me to do with, _that_?"

"Just shut it, damn you! Do what I'm paying ya for" he hissed again as he reached down and entwined his hands roughly within the whore's long black hair, pulling her head closer to him in an effort to silence her distracting ridicule .

Feeling Laina's expert fingers begin their work once more, Tristan growled deep in his throat. Closing his eyes tightly, desperate to feel some measure of arousal in which to lose himself and escape.

Feeling failure keenly now, he tried to imagine this was Juna at his feet, only to find guilt and self loathing begin to creep its way within him. As he felt the whore's warm, moist mouth upon him, instead of desire he felt nothing but sickening disgust.

Tristan began to tremble with abhorrence, What in God's name was he doing? Suddenly Tristan pushed the woman roughly away and dropped his head in his hands.

"Get away from me, just …go!" he cried into his calloused palms as his knees gave way and he slipped down the armoury wall to the floor. Laina screamed and yelled, furious that once again that she had let that scout throw her aside.

"Laina! That's enough!" the unexpected sound of Dagonet's deep and powerful voice cut through the woman's barrage of insults, silencing her immediately. Laina stood up and scowled at the big man. Wiping her mouth, she turned and made to leave.

"Bastard!" she hissed over her shoulder at Tristan as she sauntered away.

Dagonet walked over to his friend, who seemed oblivious to his presence. Kneeling down on his haunches he reached out and placed a consoling hand on Tristan's shoulder.

"Come on, old friend. You won't find the answers in the bottom of an ale mug or at the hands of a penny wench."

Dagonet hauled Tristan up from the floor and led him over to the horses' water trough in the court yard and effortlessly dunked him in

"Hellfire!" Tristan yelled between gasps for breath, sobriety quickly returning as Dagonet pulled his head up out of the freezing water.

"Feel better?" Dagonet laughed. "Works every time"

"If you weren't so big, I'd kick your bloody arse, for you, you son of a whore!" Tristan grumbled as he shook the water from his hair.

Dagonet gave another low rumbling chuckle and slapped Tristan good naturedly on the back.

"If I were you lad, I'd save my energy for that lass of yours. You're a damn fool you know that?" Tristan glanced across at Dagonet but said nothing. "We leave at dawn, if you go now you should have time enough to put things right."

Dagonet walked away, not waiting for an answer, knowing Tristan full well enough not to expect any.


	9. The Visit

**Well, I finally got another chapter out! I think you all know me now for the sloth I am, when it comes to updating! I'm sorry, but it's not from lack of trying I swear:)**

**Thank you for being so patient and I will finish this eventually, I promise.**

**Chapter 9 - The Visit**

Juna sat close to the warm, welcoming hearth. Still clutching the cloak firmly about her, she stared into the flames; entranced as she watched them dance, finding new life as they engulfed the log she had recently placed upon it. Dawn was almost upon them, but nothing stirred yet, save for the low crackle of the fire and the gentle rise and fall of her mother's sleeping breath as she lay, oblivious to her daughter's night time escapade.

Juna's fingers glided softly over the tender bruises that had begun to encircle her wrist - a painful reminder of events, that had their evidence not been there before her eyes, she would hardly have believed had passed that night. Feeling wretched and starved of sleep, Juna closed her heavy, tear soaked lashes, but could find no escape from the man who caused her so much humiliation and pain. Forsaking him as she did now, instead of relief, brought only the agony of how desperately she truly loved him. Over and over, the whole soul destroying scene raced through her mind until she was left nauseous, with the only reasoning she could find for the whole torrid affair being his not wanting her existence known. After all, she was nothing. He must be so ashamed of his affection for such a lowly, plain and impoverished no one. He must be so ashamed of _her_. That could be the only explanation for the fury he had shown at finding her there surely, Juna lamented silently. His shame must indeed, have been great.

Her brief flirtation with love was over and here she was, left grieving and ruined. Gone was the memory of the love for her that she had thought had shone so sincerely in his eyes. Cloaked now, by the veil coldness and anger he had shown her, which had all but left her believing his love had never really been at all. She wanted so much to believe his love was real, but try as she may, she could not bring to mind a true declaration of it. There had been murmurings of love in her ear, suggestion of a life together; she hadn't imagined that, she was sure she hadn't. But had he actually spoken those words, 'I love you'? Was she so blind with love for him that she heard only what she had wanted to hear from his lips? Juna grimaced painfully, thinking how she had so easily and shamelessly given herself to him, seduced by what she was now convincing herself of, as the fallacious words of love from a well practised and decadent predator. Had her mother been so right? A fresh stab of pain pierced her within, rising to her throat almost choking her. Juna dropped her head into her hands but no more tears fell, there were no more left to fall.

"Gods Great Fist!" Juna's mother gasped in shock, as she shot upright, startled from her slumber.

Taking a moment to gather her wits she looked around anxiously to see her daughter staring back at her, her fearful and drawn expression illuminated clearly within the glow of the now roaring fire. A thunderous banging upon the hut door shook them both once more.

"Juna!" a man's voice roared as the wooden door rattled furiously yet again.

It took the mother a mere heartbeat to spot her daughter's muddy feet and cloak still pulled about her shoulders and piecing together the scenario instantly, she knew that her worst fears of the last few days were now confirmed.

"Oh my Juna… what have you done?" she whispered, heartache already misting her eyes as she looked into the pale, tear stained face of her daughter.

Again the voice outside the door yelled out Juna's name and the mother rose swiftly from the warm furs upon the floor and made her way to the door.

"Don't open it, Ma…. _Please_ don't open it!" Juna begged shrinking back from the voice that she knew so well outside, terrified at the revelation about to unfold. Her heart began to pound painfully, just as it had a few short hours ago, So much so, that it almost robbed her of her breath. What in the Lord's name was he doing here now? How much more humiliation was she to suffer at his hands? Why could he not just leave her be?

Ignoring her daughter, the woman lifted the wooden bar, opened the door and stared steadily across into the eyes of the scout. There was silence for a moment as the two regarded each other. The stoic expressions of both, revealing not a hint of their pain.

He needed no introduction, she knew him instantly. Who at the wall didn't know Arthur's wild and ruthless scout?

'Dear Lord' the mother prayed desperately. 'Not _him _….Anyone but_ him!..._ Please don't let it be this vicious, heathen dog that has defiled my girl'

Pulling herself up tall, she took a steadying swallow and asked in a calm but frostily tone.

"What do you want, _Sir_?"

"I am here for Juna," Tristan replied equally as calm, but unable to hide the involuntary twitch that quivered at his jaw line, betraying his anxiety. "I am Tris-"

"I know who you are" she snapped acidly, cutting him dead. "What business do you have with my daughter?"

Tristan didn't care for her tone and his eyes grew narrow and dark as his agitation increased.

"What business do you have to ask, woman?" He growled "Let me by!" His accent was thick on his tongue and the sound of it sickened the mother, reminding her of the Godless animal he was.

"I will not! This is my home and you are not welcome here."

Tristan moved, ever so slightly, with thoughts to grab the infuriating woman and throw her aside, but he stopped himself before he did so. He had already lost enough this evening with his heavy handed temper. He reminded himself just who this was in front of him now and he knew he could ill afford another thoughtless outburst.

Grinding his teeth painfully, he managed to stay his anger and attempted to hold on to some semblance of rational conduct.

"I need to see her… Now, let me by…" he hissed and then, as if in after-thought, he took a deep breath and with obvious great difficulty added, in a more equable tone "……_please_?"

"No." she answered abruptly, the loathing clear in her look. "_She_ will not see you and_ I_ will not allow it. Good night to you"

The woman could almost see the shackles rise up on his back as he began flexing his fists. "_You, will let me by"_ he snorted furiously. "I have the right!"

"_You_ have no right, you arrogant slave of Rome! She is _my_ daughter and you _will_ leave her alone."

Trembling with fear, knowing he could cut her down where she stood if it so pleased him, the woman still stood her ground bravely eye to eye with the scout, deifying him, daring him to challenge her further. Whatever had passed between Juna and this man, he had harmed her in some way of that she was sure and she would have him trample over her dead body before she would let him hurt her daughter again.

Tristan was battling his temper desperately. This was not how he had envisaged the confrontation at all. Over and over he acted the scene in his head as he had ridden there that night. Dagonet had made it all sound so easy. He would bang on the door, gather her up in his arms, beg her forgiveness and away they would ride. This woman - this unshakable, maddeningly gutsy woman stood before him now was not part of the plan. As much as he wanted to snap her bloody neck for her, he couldn't help but feel the tiniest flicker of admiration for her pluck. Not many dared to stand their ground against him and those that did rarely lived to boast of it.

Tristan breathed in deeply and replied with quiet restraint.

"She is not your daughter any longer. She is mine."

The woman gave out a scornful laugh "_Yours? _For how long?.. a week?... a month? Until her belly is swollen with your vile Sarmatian spawn?" Fighting back the sting of tears, she added almost beseechingly "Have you not whores enough to satisfy your depraved appetites that you need to drag my innocent daughter down into your Godless filth along with you? Stay away from her. She is not for you – for the love of God, I beg you?"

Tristan roared a barrage of curses and pounded his fist upon the wall of the hut, not caring to hold his passion any longer.

"_Do not_ ask me to give her up, I sharnt!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"I have no need, she has already forsaken you of her own good sense, now let her be"

"Not until I have seen her, I will not leave until I've seen her"

"Then it will be a long night for you!"

The door slammed swiftly shut before him, leaving the echo of his dismissal still bellowing in his head. Biting his lips painfully, Tristan's rage began to billow through his nostrils as he swung back his foot and crashed through the wooden door. He heard Juna's startled cry against the sound of splintering wooden as he stepped quickly through, effortlessly pushing aside her mother and straight over to where she now stood.

Her mother cried out. Cursing and yelling at him to get out.

"YOU!" He roared, pointing a vicious finger at cursing woman, halting her tirade immediately "_You_ will hold your tongue woman!"

For a moment there was silence as Tristan turned to Juna stood huddled by the fireside and they held each others gaze firmly. He stood before her, his long hair tussled across his face, a heavy leather and iron rung tabard adorning his chest, a curved blade across his back. He looked every inch the knight she had never known. He looked dangerous and more attractive then ever and Juna didn't know which it was that frightened her more.

Tristan could see her fear, causing his own disgrace to gather painfully at his throat. Why in hell's name could he not persist from terrifying the one thing he loved more than anything else? He reached out, wanting desperately to chase away the dread in her eyes, to feel her in his arms and enfold her within his love. He was her sanctuary not her doom. But she shrank back from his touch and Tristan thought he might die there and then.

"Don't you touch her!" yelled Juna's mother once more as she made a move towards him. But Juna raised her hand and stopped her swiftly in her tracks.

"Please Ma, don't….no more of this violence!" She implored. "Leave us be for just a moment…I beg of you" The mother shot her a wounded angry look, feeling betrayed by her daughter's request. Tristan said nothing, just stared impassively through his untidy locks as he felt the slightest grain of hope from Juna's appeal to her mother.

For a moment the older woman did not move but eventually she gathered her dignity and strode out, stopping just beyond the door of the small one room hut.

Hearing her welcome retreat, Tristan reached out for Juna once more, but again she rejected his touch. Tristan breathed deeply, a trembling breath and dropped his hands.

"Why do you wilt away from me, Juna?" he whispered "Am I so repulsive to you?"

Juna felt fresh tears gather as she answered him "You are not the man I thought I knew, Sir"

There it was again, that infuriating formality, as if they were subject and master and not the lovers they had been just yesterday. Tristan pursed his lips, urgently seeking the right words but having no idea where to find them.

"For the Gods sake, Juna…" he hissed desperately "I am still the same man I always was… the man who loves you – is that not enough?"

"The man who _loves_ me?" Juna snapped back, suddenly finding a fresh sense of nerve and determination. "I do not understand this…_love… _you speak of. You drag me away in front of your people as though I were some shameful, dirty secret that had been discovered and then you terrorise me for Lord knows what! If that be your _love_ …I want none of it, Sir. "

Tristan put his hands to his temples and began to step back and to, anxiously before her. "No, no, _no_ Juna!…do not say that to me! Do not say you do not want my love, for it is as true a love as you could ever know, I swear it!" reaching out swiftly, he grabbed her forearms and pulled her close, no longer caring if she wanted his touch or not.

"I know I behaved like the coarse bastard I am Juna, but it was not born from shame of _you_…how could you even think that?"

"_How_ could it surprise you that I should think so?" Juna cried, still strong and resolute in her defence.

"But it was myself I was ashamed of…_not you_! Never you!"

Juna wriggled from his grasp, Tristan wisely allowing her the freedom, and stared up at him confused and disbelieving.

"I just didn't want you to know the depraved wretch I used to be and I have no way of knowing how to make you understand that, Juna!" He growled, his voice husky and rising.

"You mean the depraved wretch you ARE!"

Tristan felt a sharp stab of guilt and disgrace as the memory of Laina clouded his thoughts. For a moment he said nothing, he just held up his hands as if in a token of surrender. At length he swallowed deeply and then continued, managing to hold his countenance now calm and solemn.

"It's true" he shrugged "I have no graceful manners or learning to speak of. I know how to drink, I love to kill and I've chased whores all my life with the best of them." His words, though honest, stung Juna's heart. Tristan saw her physically deflate and grow pale as she dropped her eyes to the floor. He sighed, tired and weary, watching sadly as a tear trickled down Juna's cheek.

"Juna" he whispered "In just a few moments, I leave for the north, travelling through Woad country. There is an army of Saxons marching south as we stand here now. If I make it back, I will be free."

He paused, waiting for any sign of hope that Juna would return to him, but she neither raised her eyes nor spoke. "I can be a better man, Juna…_you_ make me a better man…" Juna persisted in her silence, so Tristan tried once again "A friend once said 'what is the point of living, if not to love and be loved?'…. I would have laughed at him, had I not met you."

Still, she made not a stir nor a sound and Tristan began to feel defeat at his door. He knew not what else to do. He realised at that moment, this was one thing in this life he was powerless to demand. He could not make her love him against her will and what right had he to even try?

Wanting desperately to fall into his arms, Juna felt her heart would rip in two, but she found herself unable to move. Was it fear, was it stubborn pride, was it the presence of her disapproving mother just a few feet away? She knew not what, only that her body was like stone and she prayed desperately that he would take hold of her once more and break the wretched spell upon her limbs.

Tristan reached out and gently wiped away the tear from her cheek. With the touch of his fingertip, Juna held her breath, longing for him to do what she, try as she might, could not and gather her up into his arms.

"I love you, Juna" he whispered once more, before turning and walking away.

Not until she heard the stirring of horse's feet and then the thunder of their gallop, did the curse break and she ran to the door, only to be caught by her mother's strong arms pulling her back.

"No Juna, let him go, lass, let him go…" she begged, clutching her sobbing daughter to her breast, muffling the sound of Juna crying his name as the thump of the horses hoofs faded into the distance.

"He said he loved me…" she sobbed desperately over and over whilst she rocked in her mother's resolute grasp.

"Love!" her mother spat acidly "Love is but a word of deception from the mouths of men…"

"No, no you are wrong..." Juna cried once more.

"I am _not_ wrong! I know more than you could ever imagine, child. You know not what I have suffered in my life, Juna – for I have spared you that nightmare and I see now I was wrong to covert you from the evils of this world. For you live in a castle in the air and have no concept of the cruelties of men like him. It was because of a man such as he, I became my father's disgrace – I would sooner die than let you become mine." The woman paused and held her daughter ever tighter as another barrage of sobs wracked forth, "Oh my poor sweet girl, there is no such thing as the love you speak of …"

"Then what is this pain I feel, my mother?" Juna implored as she pushed herself from her mother's embrace. "Why do I long to be in his arms still? Why do I know I would suffer a thousand curses from his lips just for one more embrace?"

Staring not at her daughter, but way beyond, seemingly lost in some distant painful memory that Juna struggled to comprehend, the young woman watched as her mother's finger trailed the length of a tiny scar in the corner of her eye. The older woman sighed, the journey stirring thoughts that lay dormant but never forgotten and in a sad, defeated voice she whispered.

"Then you are truly lost, child."


	10. The Loss

**Thank you for your kind reviews, I can not thank you all enough. Here is chapter 10 and heck of a lot quicker than I anticipated!lol! I don't know what came over me! I only hope, that in my haste, I have not rushed this one too much. I hope you all enjoy it.**

**Chapter 10 - The Loss**

Juna stared down vacantly at the meal that sat untouched before her. Had it really been ten days since the man she loved had ridden away from her? Ten long, agonizing days, which were only eclipsed in their misery by the sleepless nights which Juna awaited each day with dread? She found she could manage to make it through the days, burying herself with hard work and menial tasks, anything with which to keep her thoughts from straying to the unspeakable fear that her knight may lay dead or dying somewhere and the shame that it was she who had not even had the courage to admit how deeply and truly she loved him. But the nights were merciless in the wicked games they played. The silence and the darkness both intent on starving her of her sleep and haunting her with her guilt.

Juna silently pushed away the plate and eased back in her chair. She could no more eat than she could sleep and she looked pale and drawn, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, heavy and sickly looking. As she stared into nothingness, a silent tear trickled down her face. Just one more of many that fell mechanically and unnoticed now.

The last thing she had expected from her mother was kindness but it was kindness she had received. She seemed to tend to her daughter's broken heart just as she would have if she had suffered a blistering wound or a raging fever. She had held her while she wept, soothing her breathless sobs. She had given her silence when she could not bear to talk; she had listened whilst she poured out her heartache and fears, begging her to fret not for the scout. He would return safely, she would see and there would be no more need for this tireless guilt and remorse. She did not however, attach any reassurance for reconciliation, preferring instead to cling to the ever diminishing hope that this passion would run it's course and her daughter's heart would find its time to heal.

The mother looked across the table at her daughter, a worried frown furrowing her brow.

'When would this all end?' She lamented, 'when would this melancholy let go its hold of her?' It was consuming her daughter entirely and she feared she was loosing her. If no change came soon, all that would be left of the sweet-hearted girl she once was would be a bitter and hollow shell. But what was a mother to do? The only spark of life she showed these past days was on hearing the rumble of a cart passing by on its journey back from Baden Hill. Juna would sprint hastily over, begging for news of Arthur's knights. Each time they would shake their heads and continue on and sorrow would engulf her once more.

Damn that knight and his conceited and lecherous appetite. It seemed inconceivable to her that a man such as Tristan could truly love her daughter, how could he, why would he? Men like him had not the capacity to love, only the capacity to take for their own selfish pleasure. No, she was convinced, he had robbed her daughter's spirit, just like the parasite he was. Just like the parasites they all were, just like Marrok. The mother felt a whispering tremble in her breast and closed her eyes. If she allowed it, she could still see his face as if it were but yesterday and not some eighteen summers ago.

He was young and strong with a handsome, whisker-less face and long dark hair, which fell enticingly about his shoulders in dishevelled, loose curls and striking grey eyes, which at first glance seemed to sparkle like clear crystal pools. But if one had looked deeper, grew dark and cold, like the depths of the Black Sea from whence he came.

The Mother felt the old familiar wound fester within, remembering the seduction of his low and lazy accented voice. She, a young girl, barely fourteen and still raw in the games of love. It hadn't taken the Sarmatian long to entice her away from the safety of her kin. Who could blame a girl so naïve and still so innocent, for mistaking those lingering looks of want and whispered words of hunger as the love they were so cunningly camouflaged to be. The moment he had her alone, the girl quickly awakened to the true meaning of the knight's attention. She had not been ready for such zealous and hurried passion and soon the caressing hands upon her became rough and insistent, the seductive eastern voice, course and demanding. Her shy and awkward refusal soon became pleading cries for mercy. But he had showed her none, until at last he had his release and he fell from her, his breath heavy and his cold, cruel heart still pounding. He had sneered at her tears as he tied up his breeches and he cursed her for a whore, as he strode away.

Devastated and in pain, she had curled herself up into a ball and wept uncontrollably – vowing that for as long as she had breath in her lungs, she would never let a man touch her again and she never did. But the journey of her misery had still a way to travel yet.

When the swell of her belly caught the attention of her severe and dour father, he had beaten her with his fist until she had finally given up the name of 'the bastard whose spawn it was she carried'. The revelation was just one more, her enraged father could not bear to acknowledge. Without another thought, he had dragged her weeping from his home and cast her out onto the road. 'Let that Sarmatian dog take care of his own bitch!', he had screamed at her, for she was no longer a daughter of his.

Terrified and broken, she had fled from her home and her people, never to return.

How she had come to be at this tiny settlement, five miles from Baden Hill, she could never recall. Old man Dafydd and his wife always told her they had found her lying by the roadside as they travelled the long road home from the west. So cold and still was she, they had at first believed her dead.

They both welcomed her into their lives and home with an unconditional love, which she had never been able to fathom. They never questioned her condition, never pressed her for her story. "Do we need an excuse for kindness?" had always been their answer when asked. "Besides, it was God's will we should find you that day child and who are we to question Him?"

On the evening Juna came into the world, the old wife had wept with joy, thanking God for the gift of a child they had never been blessed with.

Three summers later, Dafydd was dead, caught by a fever that his aging body was powerless to fight, only to be followed a few short days later by his heart-broken wife. So distraught from their loss, the girl had thought she would have died with them, had it not been for Juna.

The woman opened her eyes and looked wearily across at her daughter. There was nothing in Juna's looks or countenance that would have betrayed Marrok as her father. Nothing, but for an occasional carefree glint of the eye and curl of the mouth when she laughed a certain way. When she heard that chuckle, the woman would look up at her daughter and there he was. After all these years, those rare and brief moments could still turn her cold and she would look away quickly, only to turn back and thankfully, find he was gone.

It was the thunder of hooves that snapped both women to their senses. Looking up sharply, Juna's eyes grew wide as she heard a loud hollering voice spreading its news about the village.

"Arthur Castus has returned! Arthur Castus has returned! Everyone! Grab all you have and rally at Baden Hill!"

Wasting not a moment's breath, Juna fled from her seat and raced outside to see a young messenger sat upon a black mare.

"Hear me people! The Saxons march on Baden Hill" he yelled "You must rally at the fort or flee south!"

Panic quickly ensued within the tiny settlement. People rushed from their homes confused and terrified.

Juna dodged her way through the scattering people and grabbed the horseman's reins.

"Are they all returned Sir? The knights, have they all returned?" She cried as the nervous mare began to stamp and beat at the floor "For the love of God, man! Are they all safe?"

"One has fallen!" he spat irritably as he struggled to gain control of his animal.

Juna felt the bottom fall from her heart "Who! Who has fallen!" She gasped, almost unable to wrench the words from her throat "Is it the scout, is it Tristan?"

In the rapidly rising chaos the horseman's mount began to rear and buck, throwing Juna aside as she lost her grip on the bridle. Swiftly swinging around her hind quarters, the mare knocked Juna clean off her feet. She hit the floor heavily, narrowly missing being trampled under foot as the envoy battled to bring her to calm. Ignoring Juna's plea, he urged the animal on, riding off to spread the terrifying news.

Juna got to her feet, oblivious to the painful bruising of her hip. She cared for nothing but the stomach wrenching fear that she may have lost her Tristan. She must get to the fort, she must get there now. She looked to the road that led to Baden Hill and without a single delay, she began to run.

"Juna, Juna wait!" Her mother yelled as she took flight after her.

"I must get to Baden Hill!" Juna gasped breathlessly, "I must find Tristan! You will not stop me this time, I swear it…as long as I have breath left in my body, you sharn't stop me, this time!"

Her mother's eyes filled with tears as she clasped her daughter to her breast. How could she persist in this denial of her daughter's love? This must put an end to it surely, one way or another? Frantically, she prayed she had been wrong all this time and their love would prove to be a true love, a love she had for so long believed could not exist. Frantically, she prayed it was not too late.

"Then let me harness the cart," she whispered hoarsely "I will get you there, my child."

0000000000000

Darkness had fallen quickly at Baden Hill, a sinister darkness, disturbing in it gloom and void of any radiance from either star or moon. All the knights had gathered upon the wall, watching and waiting, restless in their anticipation for the arrival of the enemy so close on their heels. Each one felt all too keenly the absence of one man and each fought hard the consuming sorrow that tore at their hearts.

Tristan stood leaning against the cold stone battlements, staring out into the darkness beyond the fortress gates, motionless against the chill night breeze that whipped about him, stinging his face and his hands. Making no effort to shelter from its painful bite, he instead welcomed it, grateful for its fight with the emptiness within. He seemed oblivious to anyone or anything at that moment, lost somewhere in his own silent world of grief. Like the others, his thoughts were of Dagonet, now lying cold and still beneath the earth up on Baden Hill.

He remembered their last moments together as they stood upon a great lake of ice, fleeing the Saxons that would claim his life. As the ice began to crack, Arthur had looked to his men, lost almost as to what to do.

'Here! Now!" Dagonet had roared, determined they should run no more, but turn and face their foe. Relieved, Tristan had glanced over his shoulder at his friend, catching his eye instantly and nodded his agreement with a single tip of his chin. Dagonet returned his look with a peaceful, knowing smile, the smile of a man who had glimpsed his destiny and welcomed it. No one else had seen it, he was sure, but Tristan had and he had understood, just as Dagonet knew he would.

Tristan breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked tired and drawn. He hadn't slept a night since he had ridden from Juna's door, instead, finding himself haunted by the loss of her love. Every time he lay down, he ached from want of having her next to him. Every time the breeze whispered past him, he caught her scent. Being without her was torture, believing her lost forever was like death itself.

He felt envy for Dagonet, he envied his peace. He longed desperately to find his own once more, but he knew that without her love, he never would again.

"Sweet Christ, Tristan, look at that...!"Lancelot breathed in disbelief. He stepped up behind the scout, staring out at a sea of flaming torches just moving in from the distance. Tristan leaned up from the stone wall and cast a weary, glance over his shoulder.

"I suppose someone should call, Arthur" he murmured with a nonchalant shrug.

Tristan turned around and looked down upon the crowds of men, women and children all gathered together in the courtyard. All of them feeling lost and afraid, none of them truly knowing the horror that was awaiting them beyond the gates. He cared for not one of them, why should he? They were not his people, this was not his fight. But still, tomorrow he would ride out with the others and shepherd them to safety, leaving Arthur and his new found barbarian alliance to face the Saxon horde alone.

He would rather stay here and die by Arthur's side, albeit the side of the Woads he had just spent his last fifteen years fighting. Tristan gave a low, saddened chuckle at the ignominy of it all. What good was freedom to him without her, anyhow? The slightest notion of her sent flames searing through his heart once more and he looked away as the emotion rose hot and agonizing inside him. He clenched his fists, cursing himself for his weakness and battled to push all thoughts of Juna aside. But it was a fruitless conflict and one he never could win. He had to get away; he needed to be alone a while. The hushed, nervous whisperings of the people looking up to them in hope of their salvation, began to echo painfully in his head, leaving him suffocated by their unspoken desperation and need. Without a word, he pushed his way past Lancelot and began making his way along the stone ramparts towards the west tower doorway.

A sudden voice calling out his name stopped him dead in his tracks. The voice cried out once more, distinct above the murmuring mass and Tristan turned slowly and looked back. There, desperately fighting her way through the crowd and then stumbling up the wooden stairway to the top of the wall… was Juna.


	11. The Night

**Firstly, This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature - if it offends, please do not read!**

**Secondly, but most importantly, Thank you everyone, as always, for your support - this _should_ be the penultimet chapter! Hope it's ok!**

**Chapter 11 – The Night.**

Tristan stood motionless and silent; he wanted to run to her, but found he could not - his feet that seemed now made of stone, denying him his need. As she grew near, he felt his heart begin to pound so loudly that he was sure all around him must hear it, but still he was unable to move, half afraid that this was but a trick of the spirits sent to taunt him and should he move, the spell would be broken and his Juna be gone.

He heard her cry his name once more, the sound of her voice fuelling the fever which swelled up within him, threatening to engulf him completely and sweep him away. He reached out toward her and into the circle of his arms, she fell sobbing and there they stood, clinging to one another as if grasping for their last breath of life.

He felt her quivering in his arms and clasped her ever tightly, burying his face into her long dark hair and whispering frantic words of love and pleas for forgiveness. Taking her face in his hands he soothed her tear soaked cheeks with his soft whiskered lips and finding her warm mouth, his kissed her long and deeply and with an urgency that was passionately reciprocated.

As their mouths parted to draw breath, Juna's fingers explored his face in wonder, needing to know this was truly her knight before her, she too, afraid it nothing more than the mischief of her own imagination. Tristan closed his eyes, exalting in her touch.

"I thought you dead, my sweet knight" she wept… "I thought you dead"

Her words brought such pain as thoughts of Dagonet swept over him. Just a few moments ago he would have so willingly taken his place but feeling this woman in his arms once again, he found his heart betraying him and thanking the gods his time was not yet over.

"Hush, my lady" he whispered gently, a sad smile ghosting his lips "I am not dead" he leant low and kissed her lashes "They do not have me yet"

A frightening awareness suddenly gripped Juna at her throat and slowly she turned her eyes and gazed beyond the battlements.

"God in heaven, Tristan…." she gasped slowly, her voice nothing more than a strangled murmur as her wide and terrified eyes took in the vision that lay in wait beyond the fortress walls.

In the darkness, blazed a blanket of Saxon torch light stretching as far as her eyes could see, lying in wait for their souls like a demon at the mouth of hell.

"…What shall become of us?"

Tristan took her face in his hands once again and forced her gaze to his determinedly.

"Look at me Juna, look at me!…No more tears woman… have courage! I will keep you safe… I swear it!"

"But…" Juna cried once more, her voice and lips trembling with fear.

"No, Juna!" he breathed huskily, resting his forehead next to hers, "nothing else is real this night… nothing, but you and I…" he kissed her hungrily, overwhelmed by a possessive and passionate fire. He held her tight in his arms as though he would never again let her free, determined that nothing and no one would take this night away from him.

That thought made Tristan look up sharply, stirred by the sudden realisation that every eye was on them. He glared darkly at the staring eyes of Lancelot, Gawain and the others, his look one of challenge, daring anyone of them to deny him this night. As he pulled his woman closer into his protective grasp, he found to his surprise he was met with only looks of understanding. Lancelot shrugged and lowered his eyes, a faint, compassionate smile brushed the lips of Bors, and Gawain merely gave a nod. Whilst Galahad just looked on, wide eyed and bewildered at this extraordinary behaviour from the scout he had only ever thought of as ruthless and dark souled. Not a word was spoken between them.

Juna felt her own fears take flight as he swept her up into his strong arms and carried her away.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Tristan set her down in his room - Juna, stumbling a little as he let go his grip. He slammed shut the heavy wooden door and threw the bar across with a thump. He turned to face her then, his breath heavy; almost panting as they eyed each other for a moment, both of them silhouetted against the blazing hearth that warmed the room with its soft, inviting glow. It had been so long since he had felt her beneath him. His excitement quickened as he remembered the nights they had spent apart, knowing now they were finally at an end. Nights spent imagining her lying warm and naked beside him. Nights he had believed they would never share.

He ached with longing to taste her, but hesitated; afraid the intensity of his growing desire would fracture this fragile moment between them. He fought with himself as he searched desperately for any sign of the reciprocation of his hunger, willing her to make the move, to tell him it was what she wanted too

His eyes dripped with desire, making Juna throb from want of his touch. Gone, was the shy and reticent young girl he had gently led into womanhood. Having already once tasted his loss and believed him gone forever, she easily abandoned all modesty and felt no shame in her need - he was right, at that moment, nothing else _was_ real, nothing but them and each moment could be one they may never share again.

She did not want to give herself, but instead, be taken and claimed, wishing to drown in his passion and over-powering strength. This strange emotion both frightened and excited her more. She pulsed within as her now glistening lips parted, but she could not speak, she did not know how, but words were not needed. Tristan sensed her call and growled low in his throat.

"Juna" he breathed huskily as he pulled off his tunic and flung it aside "Come to my bed"

She starred almost breathless, at his beautiful, lean body and a wanton glow touched her face. After a thoughtful moment, she shook her head. Tristan arched a quizzical brow, then took a step toward her.

"I _said_…come to my bed" he demanded again, his eyes narrowed and sparkling

She refused silently once more, but the enticement was unmistakable in her look and it thrilled Tristan beyond belief. He stole once more toward her and she backed away. A smile curled at his lips, as her dark eyes danced with lustful defiance.

With one swift step she was in his arms again, arching her back as he rained hot and wild kisses upon her face and neck. She gasped as his fingers tore at her dress and she felt his hot mouth hungry at her breast, his tongue sending tremors spiralling towards the heat between her legs. She entwined her fingers tightly within his braids, pulling his head back painfully, denying him his pleasure and heightening her own. Tristan roared passionately and thrust his hands beneath her thighs, lifting her to the bed. Ripping the dress over her hips he threw it to the floor and parted her thighs, tasting her sweetness with ravishing urgency. Juna whimpered, closing her eyes, lost in the pleasure of his mouth. As she rocked against him, Tristan felt her tremble begin, he stopped suddenly and moved up her body and kissed her mouth, not allowing her satisfaction. Wanting instead to inflame her desire and entice her to take control.

Just as he hoped, Juna cried out in frustration and immediately, her impatient hands reached down and pulled at the laces of his breeches which were fit to burst from the throb of his want of her. Tristan gasped from relief as she set him free, only to find his breath robbed from him once more as she curled her hands around him. He weakened from her touch as she caressed him with firm, hungry strokes.

"Take me in your mouth," he groaned as he sat back on the bed "_I beg you…."_

Tentatively, Juna knelt before him and did as he bayed, unsure of what was expected, but his impassioned moans soon filled her with confidence as she began to gently suck and stroke him with her tongue. Tristan lay back and closed his eyes, shuddering at the touch of her warm mouth which caressed him with ever increasing fervour and yet still so lovingly. When she brought him to the edge and he knew he could take no more, he reached out, gently lifted her bowed head and smiled at her. He looked so beautiful, she almost wept from the sweet pain of love that pierced her heart.

They held each others brown-eyed gaze and all went quiet between them. In that instant, it seemed to both as if their love for one another had burst forth and at last enfolded them together for eternity.

"I love you…. _my lady_" he whispered as he took her into his arms and laid her down.

She gasped as he moved himself above her.

"I love you… _my knight_" She cried, her eyes brimming with tears of happiness as they became one, body and soul once more.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

She lay in his arms, her cheek resting upon his chest. Tristan dozed, hypnotised by the graze of her finger tips as they tenderly traced the curve of every muscle. The soft dark curls upon his torso tickled her fingers and made her smile.

"You are so beautiful" she murmured thoughtfully, as if to herself.

Tristan gave a rusty chuckle, lifted his head from the pillow and peered at her through one eye.

"Why do you laugh?" she asked, amused, lifting herself up, so as to see his face.

"I've been called many things, my lady…but never that!"

Juna laughed gently and kissed his lips, "But I say that you _are…." _She insisted between giggles.

"I am ill favoured and coarse, not to mention stubborn and moody …" He laughed as he snuggled his mouth to her neck. "You'd do well to escape me now woman or forever be damned..." Juna shrieked as his whiskers tickled against her skin, she begged him to stop which only served in tempting him to do it all the more. She fought him desperately; almost hysterical with laughter until he at last showed her mercy and settled himself comfortably above her.

"Then I shall prepare to be damned, knight – for I have no wish to escape you!" Juna chuckled as her hysterics died away and she shuffled herself more cosily beneath his weight.

"I'd never let you" he breathed as he kissed her mouth.

Looking up from the embrace, he brushed away a whisper of hair that fell across her cheek and he frowned slightly as a curiously sombre expression suddenly swept his lady's face. "What is wrong, my love?" he asked.

"You will not leave me…will you?" she whispered. Her eyes narrowed searching his own for any flicker of doubt. Tristan shook his head slowly, concern sweeping over him at this sudden cloud that had settled upon their happiness from nowhere.

"What happens tomorrow, when the sun rises…"

"Not now, Juna" he groaned "do not speak of this now, not _this_ night" Tristan kissed her again, but she would not be silenced, clasping her hands to his face, she pushed him up so as to meet his gaze.

"I have to know Tristan, tell me…you _must_ tell me"

Tristan heaved an irritable sigh, "Tomorrow, everyone leaves and Arthur will face those Saxon bastards at our gate, with his army of Woads."

"And you?" she asked, her voice still nothing more than a whisper.

Tristan stared down at the woman in his arms; she was terrified of his answer, he could see that so clearly and yet determined to know the truth. He lowered his eyes from hers and answered quietly

"Arthur's last orders before his knights were granted their freedom, was that we should escort one and all to safety."

Something inexplicable in his voice disturbed Juna and she felt a rush of tears gather in her throat

"I will not go without you Tristan!" she warned desperately.

When he did not reply, she grabbed again at his face and pulled him close. "Do not leave me, Tristan – don't you dare leave me!" she cried "Swear it! Swear it now!"

Tristan hesitated a moment, the fear in her eyes causing him unbearable pain.

"I will be with you always, Juna…" he replied at length "…I swear it…"

Juna wept and clung to him with relief. He began to kiss her once more, slowly and gently; amazed how precious and fragile she now seemed in his embrace, making him long to comfort and protect her from all harm She awoke in him a tenderness that never before had he thought himself capable of. A tenderness that he knew only she could ever evoke in his hardened warriors heart.

He kissed her softly, over and over, his lips drinking her tears and soothing her pain. His gentle loving hands began to caress her body tenderly and slowly, exploring her warmth as he whispered his love passionately in his native tongue. Juna basked in his healing touch until she could bear it no more. Taking him in her hands she guided him to her longing heat, crying out as they became whole once more.

During what remained of the night, they made love to each other leisurely and attentively, surrendering their hearts completely. Every touch, every kiss so pure and beautiful, When it was over and their bodies spent, he lay peaceful in her arms and watched with a heavy heart, the shadows of the dawn chase away the beauty of the night.


	12. The Future

**Well, if there's anyone left out there still wanting to read this, I thank you!! It has been an unforgivable length of time since I've updated, but I did promise I would finish this tale and I have! I shall not bore you with excuses for it taking me so long (there are many – and some of them good ones too! lol) but I will take this opportunity to say thank you to _Goddess_ who kept on my back to finish! Thank you, _Goddess_! **

**And a HUGE 'thank you' of course to everyone for all your support and kindness...and patience!!**

**Now I am done, I have a lot of catching up to do around here! See you all, soon!**

**Final Chapter**

The convoy began its journey south and silence filled the air that surrounded the Baden Hill fortress. A heavy, almost suffocating silence, that was disturbed only by the lone tears of a frightened child which echoed mournfully above the creaking of slow and heavy cart wheels.

Trundling along that same road upon their small rickety laundry cart sat Juna and her mother. Behind them, a scattering of pots and pans rattled and clanked amongst a small bundle of clothes and the few old furs which the women had hastily thrown in the previous evening before hurrying to the fort. But for the crudely fashioned table and two log stools which had been left behind, it was all they had to show for a lifetime.

Every once in a while the mother would purse her lips against the ache in her back as the cart bounced and bruised along. She had spent a long and uncomfortable night curled up on the back of that cart and even wrapped up as tightly as she was in the furs, the cold had still manage to bite leaving her feeling stiff and in pain. But she made no complaint of it. How could she in the light of the terror that loomed so dangerously close? She cared only for the relief she felt as every turn of the wheels took them just that little further away.

There were no such blossoming feelings of relief for Juna however, as she threw another tentative glance over her shoulder at Tristan who rode alongside the fleet some way behind. His eyes did not look her way this time, as they had on every occasion before, but instead up high, across the hill. Juna followed his gaze and there she saw Arthur- Draco standard held high and roaring in the cold east wind - sat proud upon his armoured warhorse, silhouetted and magnificent against the splendid winter sun. The sight of it sent a fearful shiver through her soul.

Tristan and Juna had not spoken but a few words to one another since they had risen that morning. She had instantly sensed the conflict within him, could see the uneasy shadow that dulled the sparkle of his eyes and she had felt such pain.

They had dressed quietly, Tristan bending down upon his knees to help her tremulous fingers tie the laces of her sandals - just as he had done that day, when he had first made her his own. He had looked up and gently smiled at her through his untidy locks and Juna had felt her heart break. Turning her eyes from his quickly, she had dared not speak - afraid that in return she may hear the words she feared most. And Tristan, who could hear her every thought, had remained silent - afraid of having to speak them. Instead he had reached up and kissed her softly, then taking her by the hand, lead her out into the crowded court yard and into the care of her waiting mother.

Juna turned her eyes ahead once more, the colour vanishing from her cheeks. He was going to stay and fight. She had known it all along. Her hands began to tremble and her eyes sting with tears as she desperately searched her soul for what to do. Just like a frightened child who closes their eyes in fear of the imaginary monster, thinking themselves then safe from its grasp, she sat rigid in her seat and dared not look back again. For if she did, he would catch her eye and say his goodbye and that she could not allow. Surely, he would not be able to leave her without his bidding her farewell?

As the tears began to fall, Juna felt the warmth of her mother's reassuring fingers slip into her own, giving her strength and hope as only a mother can.

Juna laid her head on her mother's shoulder and closed her eyes, grateful for the small comfort it gave her and they continued along this way awhile without a word spoken between them.

It was then the sorrowful pitch of a hawk cried out as if only to her, wailing her fears and lamenting their shared loss. The sound of her cry pierced through Juna's being like a shard of bitter ice and promptly grabbing the reins from her mother's hands, she drove the cart out from the convoy and reined the oxen in.

Turning around swiftly in her seat, she looked back and saw that he was gone.

**oooooooooooooooooooo**

A sudden thunder of Saxon drums rumbled through the air, their rapacious rhythm stirring the hunger in the hearts of the Sarmatian warhorses which began to snort and trample their hooves as the smell of battle reeked through their nostrils.

Steadying their mounts, each knight threw a look to his brother - both asking the question and knowing the answer of each with just a smile and a nod. It was agreed then. Today, as free born men, they would all stand by Arthur's side and fight.

Tristan looked to the convoy as it moved on and prayed that she would not look back again. One plea from her not to fight this day and he feared he would not be able to deny her, when he knew in his heart that he must. But with both relief and regret he saw she was now lost from his sight.

Tristan took a long deep breath and with unnerving swiftness locked her away deep within the caverns of his heart. There could be no distractions for him from now on. She would be safe now and he must not think of her again until this battle was done. But now, he must say his farewell to another whom he loved.

Bringing his gauntleted hand up close, Tristan caressed the feathery breast of his hawk with his long slender finger tips.

"Go now" he urged affectionately, to his faithful companion "You are free"

Lifting his arm up high, the bird took flight almost instantly and Tristan watched as she soared up high and disappeared with cries of salutation, within the clouds above.

A short distance away, Lancelot had ridden over had halted the armoury wagon and one by one, each knight dismounted and began his preparations for battle.

With expert speed and efficiency, Tristan primed his chosen weapons and fixed on his armour, just as he had done countless times before. He practiced well, to empty his mind of all sentiment as he concentrated on his task, quickly becoming the cold and ruthless warrior he must. But as Tristan buckled his chest plate, he could not help but throw his look one last time, towards the retreating wagons that now left nothing but a dust cloud in their wake.

He felt his heart thump with life once more and his eyes slowly narrowed, as in the distance he caught a glimpse of a solitary figure, silhouetted within the dusty gloom as it made its way running towards him.

For a moment, he just stared as the cloud began to settle and there she was. He didn't need to see her pain; he could feel her agony matching his own wound for wound.

He hadn't wanted this. Whichever path he chose today; it would be his betrayal of someone and watching her drive away had somehow relinquished him from having to choose who that someone was to be. How could he have been such a coward to have thought to have ridden from her without even a word? He felt a disdainful chuckle in his throat; he should have known she would not let him free so easily.

He breathed deeply and then slowly made his way to meet her.

They both stopped within a whisker of touching one another. Juna breathless and heaving from her flight and Tristan silent and stoical faced.

"So…" she gasped fearfully "You shall leave me after all?"

The knight remained silent. Not one flicker of sentiment betrayed him as he glanced away for a moment, desperate to hold on to his need for detachment. Holding his feelings safely in check, he then looked back to meet her grief stricken eyes once more.

"I must" he answered, his voice was lifeless and cold but inside he burned.

"You are determined?" Juna persisted as she fought back the torturous misery that seemed to strangle her every word.

"I am"

"And _nothing_ I say will keep you by my side?"

Tristan could find no reply and gave her only a singular shake of his head. He knew if she begged him not to follow Arthur, but instead ride on with her, he would be powerless but to relent. How could he deny her when all he wanted was an end to his life of loneliness and violence? But how could he end that life, if he did not make a stand this day? And if he did not, how would he live with himself, knowing he had deserted his brothers when they had needed each other most? Everything he had ever wanted stood before him now, but he knew there would be no freedom for he and Juna. No peaceful, happy future, without one more sacrifice.

"You have made you're choice then and it is by Arthur's side you choose to ride, not my own?' the accusation lay thick on her tone

"I _choose_ freedom, Juna!" Tristan barked angrily, a sudden passion rising in his voice, unable to control himself any longer.

"_You choose death!_" she hissed back.

Tristan ground his jaw painfully against the agony of her words and grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her close.

"If I turn away from him now, we can never be free, you must understand that!"

Juna let out a sob, her momentary anger washing clean away with her tears.

"But I can not exist without you, my Lord" she whispered imploringly, her voice barely audible above the sound of her breaking heart.

The look of love she so desperately needed suddenly swept across his cold and angry face and he reached up and swept the tears from her cheeks.

"Do not send me into battle with nought but the memory of your tears woman!" he growled and then denying himself no longer, pulled her fiercely into his arms and kissed her long and hard. Juna surrendered into his rough and passionate embrace, savouring every painful kiss as if it were her last.

Setting her down as swiftly as he had gathered her up, all the time fighting to imprison the burning passion within him once again, he held her stricken face next to his and breathed,

"Go now and don't look back! For I _shall _return, my Lady… _and I will find you_"

Pushing her gently but firmly from his grasp, he turned and strode away.

**ooooooooooooooooooooo**

Cerdic bent down low and cocked his head to one side as he carefully studied his next victim. His cruel, yellow whiskered face wore a bemused smile as he wondered just what in Woden's name kept this man before him crawling back to his feet. This little tryst had proved interesting if nothing else, he believed he could have finished him whenever he'd wanted but it amused the Saxon to watch his struggle for life. There was a stubborn determination, a refusal to give in to death that he had witnessed so rarely and he found he almost admired. Maybe this Arthur wouldn't be the only man worth killing today.

Tristan panted and wheezed as he once more struggled to his knees. He was exhausted; the Saxon was just too strong. He had judged him ill and was now paying the price. He was loosing blood swiftly now but the only pain he felt was that of his suffering heart. He could taste his own death, but the only thing he feared was the thought he would never again hold his lover in his arms.

With that last foray, he had been disarmed and his long and slender scimitar blade now lay at the feet his enemy. Instinctively he reached for one of a number of small knives secured within his breastplate. But he hesitated when the Saxon leisurely kicked his lost sword toward him, still with the sickly smile fixed on his lips.

Tristan knew he was toying with him, prolonging the kill for his own twisted pleasure, but to die without a sword in his hand was to die without honour and there could be no worse a fate for a knight such as he. This Saxon dog was offering him a hero's exit from this world, what fool would refuse it?

Tristan slowly lowered his hand and began to reach for the blade at his feet, his fingers drenched with his own blood and trembling with fatigue.

'So this was death,' he thought as he prepared himself for his end.

But then a moment's hesitation as the thoughts of the woman whom he loved and had left waiting for him, suddenly blinded his path and he knew he could not end it this way.

He drew in his breath and with all the force he could muster he roared.

"To Hell with honour!" As he snatched the knife from his breastplate and let it fly, straight into the middle of the Saxon's throat with a sickening thud.

**ooooooooooooooooooo**

**EPILOGUE**

The crescendo of screams echoed through the rooms and corridors of the east wing.

"Be calm child, for pity's sakes…you must be calm!"

Juna's white knuckled fingers contorted with pain as she clasped desperately at her mother's slender wrists. As the pain subsided she let out another barrage of tears as she sobbed her absent lover's name.

"_Tristan_!" she wailed as another wave of agony engulfed her body. Hot sweat trickled down her thighs and body which was drenched with perspiration.

"Push Juna,….!!!" willed her mother, anxiously.

"I cant...I can't…." she sobbed, the strength seeping from her body. All through the night she had laboured, struggling to free the child. But fatigue was fast enveloping her now and her mother knew she must not give up.

"_Yes you can girl!!_….now _PUSH_ damn you!!" roared her mother.

Juna screamed out Tristan's name once more, just as the door crashed open and in he strode, his usual wild and formidable gait forever tainted by the souvenir hobble, given to him so graciously in that last battle.

Having been banished from the birthing bed as all men were, he could no longer bare to hear her agonising calls and do nothing.

"This is no place for men!" shouted the mother, appalled at his intrusion.

"Hold your tongue woman" he snapped, promptly halting her protests as always and swiftly fell to his knees beside his lady, ignoring the pain which seared through his lame leg.

He gathered one hot and sweaty hand in his and laid his other firmly but gently low down beneath the swell of her body. Looking deep into her frightened eyes he smiled and willed her the strength to carry on.

"I can't, Tristan …I can't" she wept. But the scout would have no of it.

"Stop those tears! Look at me!" he demanded. With the power of his voice and the touch of his hand upon her, Juna felt her strength revive and as he felt the next contraction build, he commanded her to fight on.

With every last breath in her body Juna fought to free the child within her. She gasped and panted frantically as the head finally emerged and with one last muster of strength, the babe came forth into its father's arms, kicking and screaming.

Juna fell back and wept with relief and joy and elation filled the room. Tristan held up the tiny little life with wonder and pride and to his utter amazement, found himself choking back tears.

'She's so beautiful' he whispered, his voice husky with love and pride. He looked over at Juna, his eyes glistening and bright. "She's so beautiful!' he whispered again.

The mother came forward quickly "Give her to me; I must cut the cord…"

"I will do it" Tristan answered firmly, refusing to let her go.

Juna's mother huffed her disapproval and thrusting her hands on her hips, she asked him curtly. "Do you have any idea what you're doing, man?"

Tristan paused for a moment and scowled, then reluctantly gave way.

The deed was done quickly and Tristan wasted no time in claiming back the little bundle once more. He gently wrapped his daughter up and knelt back down beside his wife, kissing Juna's exhausted though elated lips as he did so.

"Look at her, Juna…isn't she beautiful?" he whispered once again. Juna chuckled gently.

"I fear I have lost you to another woman, my lord!"

Tristan smiled at her reply but never once took his eyes from the baby in his arms.

After a thoughtful silence, Juna asked quietly. "You are not disappointed…that I have not given you a son?"

Tristan shot her a sideways glance and frowned.

"A son?" he grumbled "why would I want one of those?"

Juna's mother smiled and shook her head in wonder. He was a rare man indeed, annoying to the point of despair, but rare and she knew she could have wanted no better for her daughter than this man that loved her so. Not that she'd ever tell _him_ that, of course!

She slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the new family alone with their happiness. It had been a long, hard night and she had not been without hers fears for Juna, but all seemed well and she knew Tristan would take good care of her now.

Heaving a weary, though contented sigh, she stepped out into the summer dawn. Stopping for a moment, she turned her face to the sky and felt the first drops of rain, sweet and refreshing upon her lips. How she loved to feel the cleansing touch of the summer rain.

'Today will be a good day' she thought and smiled to herself as she walked away.

**THE END.**

**Author's note. **

**For those of you who love Tristan as I do and have watched that fight with Cerdic so many times, you may recall the moment when Tristan hesitates and goes to draw the knife from his chest plate. No matter how many times I watch it, I always end up crying out for him to 'aim for the middle' and throw the darn thing! But he never listens:( **

**But I suppose then, there was not much for him to live for, but an honourable and magnificent death….**

**Thank you for reading!**


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